


let your lights shine

by hazkaban



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Harry is a physiotherapist, Louis is outed by the media, Louis is professional footballer, M/M, Pining, Trust Issues, eleanor and louis are just friends do not fret, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 21:08:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,493
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1913919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazkaban/pseuds/hazkaban
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>prompt: AU where Louis is a faded professional footballer (soccer player) whose career is nearly ruined by an injury. Harry's his physiotherapist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	let your lights shine

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hazmesentir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hazmesentir/gifts).



> For hazmesentir, who's fics are some of my favourites. If you haven't read them, do yourself a favour and go read them! I hope you like this, it was a pleasure to be able to receive you in the exchange!
> 
> To my beta, thank you, you're a dream.
> 
>    
> This is the song that Harry sings: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0IOBoRLt7Vk&feature=kp
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not know these people in real life unfortunately and this is all completely untrue.

xx

Louis peaked early.

He had peaked early, especially, in his professional football career. He wasn’t upset about it; he was expecting it, is the thing. He had always been quickest to do things throughout his entire life – and not just menial tasks like his coursework (which, granted, he never did on time), but life altering things. He lost his first father just days into being alive, he got pubic hair the week after his eleventh birthday, he first had sex with a girl when he was fourteen and then first had sex with a boy on New Year’s Eve after his sixteen birthday. Louis lost his second father at 19 and a few months later was named Best Young Player of the Year in the Barclay’s Premier League in the last ten years. It was a good year and it was a bad year; he takes it all with a grain of salt.

So his career peaked early. He was the most talked about footballer for a fair few months what with his Most Goals and second in assist’s title. He was a star, a living breathing, football playing star. But all stars dim and Louis was not exempt.

His second season wasn’t bad, of course, only just a little…disappointing. It was the disappointment from his team that kept him awake at night but the love from his fans that let him have a wink of sleep before an early practice. His brilliance, his brightness, his shining star of a personality dimmed a lot during the second season. It crushed him, knowing that his teammates and coaches were quickly losing faith in him. His breakaways were slower than they should’ve been, he lost the ball more often than in his first season, and the amount of goals he scored was nowhere near his previous seasons; not even in the top 5 in the league. He had the fans, though, and that kept him going.

Unfortunately, along with being someone who peaked quite early through his whole life, Louis also had shoddy luck. Halfway through his third season he suffered a groin injury that sidelined him through the rest of the games. His team wasn’t doing brilliantly; they were doing alright, halfway to losing but halfway winning. Somehow they made it to the final and completely dominated the other team while Louis stood on the sideline cheering his heart out but also, somewhere deep inside him, resenting the fact that he was not out there as well. Of course, after the underdog win the team experienced, the fans started to wonder: was Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson worth it? Did they really need him? Had he just been another phase? Louis read every single article about it and pasted every single one on the inside of his closet behind his rack of clothes. When Zayn saw it one day while he rooted through the closet to find something to wear to the bar, Louis looked out the window and defensively said _it fuels me_ and Zayn just nodded and didn’t say anything, didn’t call Louis out on his lie. 

So the last four years had been the best of his life, but also the worst. Worse than his biological father leaving him and his mum when he was still a squinty alien newborn and worse than when Mark left. Mark, his _real dad_ , the one who helped him get better at football, the one who gave him The Talk, the one who drove Louis to school nearly every morning. It was worse because it solidified everything Louis had secretly known about himself; that he was rubbish at football and at having people love him. His trust issues, pushed down and away when Mark came into his life and brought back up when he left, pushed back down when he had the season of his life, and finally, brought back up when it simmered out were always there in full force. 

 

When Louis wakes up at 5 fucking thirty in the morning, he does what any respectable person would do, and flings his alarm clock at the wall. He might be almost in his mid-twenties but that does not mean he can’t throw alarm clocks at the wall. He doesn’t think he hears it crack which is a sigh of relief because good alarm clocks are bloody expensive, so he rolls over and goes back to bed.

He gets approximately four more minutes of uninterrupted sleep when his bedroom door bangs open and his room-mate charges in throwing Louis’ own shoe at him. 

“Get up, Louis,” Zayn says in a very loud no please it is far too early for this voice. Louis just grunts. Zayn throws another shoe at him. “You have to be at the pitch in half an hour, and it’s not like you shower _quickly_.”

“’M not gonna shower,” Louis mutters against his pillow, voice croaky. “Gonna run around all day. Shower later. Go away. Hate you.”

He can physically _feel_ Zayn shrug. 

“Your head, not mine. I made breakfast; it’s on the counter. Get your lazy arse up and feed yourself, first practice is never a peachy experience.”

“What do you know,” Louis says petulantly as he rolls himself off his bed, stark naked. Zayn, to his credit, doesn’t even bat an eye. “You’re a fancy curator, not a lowly footballer.”

“Your salary could eat mine for breakfast, Louis.” Louis finger-guns him and Zayn, so predictable, rolls his eyes. 

“You’re right, I should kick you out and live in this fancy flat by myself. Who needs room-mates when you have piles of money?”

“You’ve already kicked me out,” Zayn points out to which Louis exclaims, “moving out and leaving me alone is not kicking you out Malik!”, and Zayn just shrugs again. 

Louis looks up at him from where he’s tugging his track pants on and finally notices he’s holding a cup of tea. Why didn’t he notice that before?

“Why didn’t you say you had tea? You’re an angel, honestly,” Louis says, kissing him on the cheek as he brushes past. “Why are you even awake this early? Have you ever seen 5am before? If the sun comes up while you’re awake, do you catch fire?”

Zayn sighs, deep and heavily as he follows Louis out of his room. “I have to receive pieces today at work since the big boss is off. Should be loads of fun.”

Louis levels him with a look, one that could rival Zayn’s I Am About To Call You Out On Your Bullshit look. “Why are you really awake? You’ve received pieces before and it’s at, like, 8am. Not before the sun’s even in the sky. I didn’t even know your coffin could open so early.”

“For the last time, I am not a vampire,” Zayn deflects, avoiding Louis’ eyes. 

“Spit it out,” Louis says, kinder than he wants to be but it’s Zayn and he’s his best friend, one of the only ones to stick by him when You-Know-What happened, one of the only ones to clap him on the back and say, _mate do you think I care? Actually fuck that, do you think I didn’t know?_ and that was that. 

“Well,” Zayn hedges, fingers itching towards his pack of cigarettes on the counter sitting nicely right beside a full plate of breakfast. Breakfast just for Louis. Louis loves Zayn. “After you-know-what happened…”

“After Nick Grimshaw “accidentally” outed me? Is that what you’re talking about?” Louis asks. He may have asked calmly but he still used air quotes, a sassy gesture probably picked up from Lottie (or did Lottie pick it up from him?).

“Yeah,” Zayn says sighing, shaking a cigarette out and motioning to the balcony. Louis follows him out and waits for him to continue.

“I just. Look, I just knew that you were…apprehensive of going back to the club.” Zayn pauses, taking a drag, and it looks like he’s choosing his words carefully like he’s aware of Louis’ fingers curling around the railing, his knuckles turning white. “It only happened a month ago, Lou, it’s not…you don’t have to be okay.”

“I’m fine,” Louis spits, eyes hard and staring at an unidentified spot on the street below, postal men and paper men nodding to each other as they go about their daily routine. 

“I know,” Zayn says and he might as well have said _bullshit Louis you’re scared to death._

“I’m scared to death,” Louis whispers and Zayn touches his shoulder, turns him so they’re looking at each other. 

“It’s okay to be scared, Louis,” he says softly. “I know you were planning on coming out anyway and shit, that in and of itself is amazing, but it was gonna be on your terms, man, not Nick fuckin’ Grimshaw’s. Maybe he really did think your team knew” – Louis scoffs – “or maybe not, I don’t fuckin’ know, I’m not in his head thank god, but you gotta let it go. It sucks but it happened. Your team is still your team. There are gonna be right dicks, yeah, but then there’s gonna be the guys who know you and who love you. It’s gonna be fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

Louis doesn’t reply, can’t reply, so he pulls Zayn into a hug, a crushing, blinding, you’re my best mate and I love you so much, hug.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, lemme go you’re crushin’ my wind pipe Muscle Man,” Zayn mutters, kissing Louis’ cheek before he stomps his cigarette out. “You and Liam still coming for dinner at Perrie’s tonight, yeah?” 

“Yeah, course. Hey, do you think Liam’s put more muscle on? Maybe I’ll call him muscle man, thanks for that idea!” Louis exclaims as they go back inside, parting ways to go to their respective rooms, dodging boxes. “Zayn, man, can you deal with these fucking boxes? I’m going to trip and die one day and it’ll be your fault.”

Zayn turns and rolls his eyes at him. “I’m moving out in a few months, just deal with it and I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Whatever will I do without you!” Louis shouts over his shoulder, Zayn responds with a resounding _fuck you_ and Louis smiles. It’ll be okay.

xx

It’s not okay. It’s a disaster.

“It’s not a disaster,” Liam says soothingly from somewhere to his right. Louis can only see his studs, head hanging through his legs as he tries to breath.

“Not? A? Disaster?” Louis gasps through his laboured breath. “Half the boys, half Liam, half!, didn’t even look at me, all practice.”

“Well,” Liam says, hesitating. “It could be worse.”

“How,” Louis whines, finally bringing his head up, confident that any tears that may or may not have formed are gone. “How could it be worse?”

“I shouldn’t say because whenever someone says ‘it could be worse’, and explains why, it usually gets worse,” Liam explains sensibly. “Like in those horror films.”

“Thanks, Payno,” Louis says dryly. “You really know how to cheer a guy up.”

“Anything I can do to help!” Liam says, a smile blooming on his face. Sweetest guy, he really is, but he never mastered the concept of sarcasm. “I know you don’t like Grimshaw, and for a good reason, but he was just doing his job. He’s a journalist, Louis, what else do you expect?”

Louis isn’t sure if Liam is insulting Nick Grimshaw or journalists as a whole, but he decides to drop it. His breathing is slowly returning to normal and his heart rate isn’t racing anymore which are both probably good signs which means he probably can venture to the showers. He stands, secretly hoping the shower room had emptied out, and grabs his towel from his locker.

“I’ll meet you at Perrie’s, yeah?” Louis says to Liam but Liam doesn’t reply and just stares over his shoulder. “Oi, muscle man. Perrie’s, tonight?” 

(It should probably be mentioned that Louis had ignored all of his coach’s calls for the last month and only sent him a quick text to assure him that yes, he would be at practice, and no, he doesn’t want to talk about it.)

Louis turns around. 

“’Ello, Coach,” Louis says and he hopes that his voice didn’t sound as squeaky to Paul as it did to him. 

“Tomlinson,” Paul says in his football manager voice. Louis doesn’t like that voice very much. “After your shower, come into my office. I’ll tell Leigh I’m expecting you.” With that, Paul turns and leaves disappearing through the doors that lead to his office.

“Well,” Liam supplies.

“Don’t,” Louis spits out, “just don’t.”

 

Louis takes an abnormally long time in the shower. He isn’t the quickest bather, and frankly people who can get in and out of a shower so quickly make Louis nervous, but he certainly doesn’t usually take a whole forty minutes to wash his body and maybe his hair. 

The second he pushes the door outside of Paul’s little office and kitchenette, Leigh, the receptionist for the club, looks up.

“Louis!” she exclaims. “So great to see you. Paul’s waiting for you.”

Louis smiles at her, but it’s really a grimace, which he feels bad about but what can you do? 

“Tomlinson,” Paul greets when Louis walks in. Louis hopes it’s not obvious that he’s shaking down to his bones. Paul, although quite a nice man Louis muses, is actually also quite scary. Tall, thick accent, menacing eyes when he needs something from you, etc. 

“I wanted to talk to you about what happened.”

Louis takes a deep breath.

“Sir, before you say anything or kick me off the team or whatever I just need to say that I was planning on coming out anyway and it’s, like, super shitty that Grimshaw outed me, and like, Nick fuckin’ Grimshaw of all people, you know as well enough as I do that he’s out to ruin this club ‘cause he’s a bloody Liverpool fan and, yeah, okay, he might’ve seen me kissing a bloke at a bar once or twice or something but he didn’t have to go fuckin’ blab it in front of all my teammates and other journalists, Paul, and it was so humiliating but I still came to work and I didn’t let it affect my day or my practice or the way I’m with the team which I think is massively incredible because we be both know the way I deal with conflict is, like, not on, but I dealt with it well! And, uh, I just hope you’ll reconsider any punishment or whatever you're planning and...And that’s it.” Quite a dull ending for someone like Louis but at this point he doesn’t care about anything but the way Paul raises a single eyebrow.

“Good for you,” he says, “but if you’re quite finished I’d like to talk to you about your performance last year and what you plan on changing this year.”

“What,” Louis says blankly. 

“Tommo, I’m not gonna kick you off the team because you like shaggin’ boys more than you like shaggin’ girls, I don’t give a rats ass about who you do or do not want to shag. What I do care about is if you’re gonna up your performance this year because, frankly, we need you to top notch like you used to be, we gotta win again this year, and we wanna do it with you.”

Louis loves Paul.

xx

_one month ago_

“So, Tommo,” Nick says, leaning forward a little, holding his notepad close to his body. Louis can’t see what he’s written, it makes him nervous but he won’t let it show. 

“So, Grimmy,” Louis says cheerfully, and if his few teammates that are also being interviewed hears how strained it is he’ll deny it. He’s good at denying things. “Don’t important journalists use recording devices nowadays?”

It’s weak banter, and they both know it, but honestly, Louis has had a rough morning. Maybe it’s his own fault for going out with Stan and Liam and getting much too drunk for someone who had to be up early for interviews but maybe it’s not. (It is)

“What’s your game plan for this season, mate? No offence but you were seriously lacking last year,” Nick says pleasantly, but he and Louis have never got on quite well so Louis sees right through him. He decides to indulge him.

“Mate,” Louis starts, leaning forward, making a show of sighing heavily. “Mate. I know. I was complete shite last season and it wasn’t good for the team, you know? I needed to step up and perform and I really didn’t, I’ve apologized as much as I can to the team, and this season…This season I’m gonna apologize to the fans by helping our team get to the finals.”

“That so?” Nick says, jotting something down. Louis’ mind drifts off and thinks of Quick-Quotes Quills and what Rita Skeeter would ask him if she were there and how much she would twist it around. He’s brought back to the present by Olly nudging him.

“Sorry,” Louis laughs as some of his teammates groan good-naturedly, classic Louis, “got a bit lost there, what did you ask?”

Nick smiles and it’s all teeth.

“I asked how your night was, there are some photos floating around the internet of you stumbling out of a bar around 2am? How’d you feel this morning?”

Louis is a pro at these questions.

“I felt great! Liam, Stan, and I went out for some drinks before the football training season starts up, nothing too crazy.” Louis is lying. He did not feel great. He felt as if three massive trucks hit him at full speed. 

“Ah,” Nick leers – okay, he doesn’t exactly leer, but Louis doesn’t like him, alright? – “then why are there photos of you stumbling into a cab, supported up by Liam? Someone who was that drunk, mate, I’d think you’d have a massive hangover the next morning.”

Louis smiles thinly. 

“Do you have any other football questions? I think the boys and I have another interview to go to.”

“Actually I think-” Olly starts, but Louis silences him effectively with a look. Olly’s a good guy.

“One more thing, Tommo,” Nick says, “I think it’s really top-notch of you to openly support a club that has had a lot of backlash, especially being a professional football player and all.”

Louis feels his blood run cold. Nick and him are in some sort of staring contest, neither blinking, Nick waiting for Louis to crumble, Louis waiting for his mouth to catch up with his brain. Except his brain has no idea what to say. 

“I think we need to be going now, Nick,” Louis says finally, clearing his throat, making to stand.

“Don’t you think it’s important that professional figures like yourself advocate for a club like Freedom Bar?”

Louis knows he’s a journalist and he’s supposed to “get the scoop”. He knows that. 

Louis and his teammates – and Nick Grimshaw – are sitting in a wide circle in the middle of their home football pitch. It’s one of Louis’ favourite places to be. It’s a convenient place to have a key for when he needs to get away from anything affecting him outside of football – even when football was the thing affecting him the most, the pitch was there to sooth him, help him figure out the millions of thoughts in his mind, help him find himself when he had somehow lost himself. The pitch had been quiet throughout the interview, nothing echoing, no one yelling, but now. Now it’s the most silent place Louis has ever been and it reminds him of a graveyard. A graveyard of his favourite place.

Louis is not a pro at these questions. 

“We’ll just be going now,” Louis says with as much grit as he can muster and with as little fear as possible. “Thanks for the interview, Grimmy, excited to read it.”

“Louis?” Louis freezes, already a few steps away from the group. “Louis, what is he talking about?”

Louis’ first thought is _you didn’t know? how didn’t you know? I thought we were friends_. The first thing he says are, “he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Don’t I?” Nick says and he doesn’t even say it rudely or maliciously. He just says it…plainly. And almost like he’s sorry for Louis, but also like he was trying to do a good thing? Louis will never figure Nick Grimshaw out. 

Louis wants to leave. Louis wants to walk away and possibly not come back. It wasn’t as if he was hiding it, he just wasn’t yelling in everyone’s faces _I LIKE DICKS_. Maybe he should get Zayn to make him a sign.

Louis fully intends on leaving, he really does. But then Nick raises an eyebrow and Louis snaps.

“So what? So fucking what I’m gay?” – a few of his teammates make shocked noises. He tries not to let it bother him – “How does who I fancy affect the way I play? Who I go home to at night has absolutely nothing to do with how I play on the field, how I act with you guys, oh don’t roll your eyes I know at least some of you are worried about changing now, and you should be, some of you have really tiny dicks.”

“OI!” Olly protests, but he’s smiling, and maybe he knew, maybe he wasn’t blind, and maybe he and Louis are real friends, and maybe, just maybe it won’t be so bad –

“Fuckin’ queer,” someone mutters from the back of the group and Louis can’t see who it is but that’s probably for the best because his hands have curled into fists somehow. 

“No need for names,” Nick bites out and Louis can’t take this anymore.

“You knew exactly what you were doing, Grimshaw, so don’t you dare play naïve and innocent. It’s sickening that you would casually out a person like you did, it’s shocking and absolutely uncalled for, but since I’m in this position – ” Louis gets a little choked up, but there is absolutely no way he’s gonna bail in the middle of his speech – “I’m gonna say, and this is _for the record_ , that it’s definitely okay to be gay or bi or pan or asexual or confused or curious, or unlabeled, or whatever. It’s okay. Everything is okay. _Write this down, you’re a journalist_. You’re okay. And if you wanna be a professional footballer or a dancer or a lawyer or a bloody doctor you can do and be whatever you want, who gives a rats ass who you want to love for the rest of your life. It’s up to you, not them, and ditch anyone who tells you otherwise.”

Louis walks away, and Liam and Olly follow him, and a few others, but not all of them, and Louis cries for a week.

xx

Nick’s article is in the newspaper the next day and it paints a picture that shows Louis as outing himself after the club backlash comment and only has the parts of his rant/speech that are optimistic and directed towards the public, not Nick, and Louis has to admit to himself that it’s well written but he will not admit that to Zayn and Liam.

Louis gets a lot of texts and phone calls and he’s not fired.

His favourite text is from Lottie which reads, _did ppl actually not know u were gay? idiots. don’t suck at football this season. love u always, fizz says hi_.

His least favourite text is from his mum which reads, _oh sweetie_ because he doesn’t want to be seen as weak but as strong, someone that isn’t afraid of love, especially isn’t afraid of what gender he loves. (That one is also his favourite text though, it’s his mum. He loves his mum.)

Zayn and Liam give him hugs and Stan gets him drunk and Perrie gives him new albums that come into the store and Louis gets over it pretty quickly.

Mostly.

xx

“I am telling you, he is so pretty and so quirky, he’s definitely your type!”

Louis tries not to roll his eyes. Perrie’s heart is in the right place, obviously, but the last thing he needs before a new football season is for some boy to pretend to like him just for money, which has happened before and Louis fell too hard too fast and it was. Well, it was a disaster, is the thing, and Louis doesn’t plan on that happening again. Louis plus feelings equals a situation nobody wants to deal with.

“Thanks, Pez,” Louis says kindly, passing her the dish full of potatoes, “but I’m not really looking for anything right now?”

“You said that with intonation in your voice,” Zayn points out, and then whispers to Liam, “like a question” when Liam looks confused.

Louis’ indignant splutter is overpowered by Perrie squealing and leaning forward in her seat, right across from Louis, presumably prepared to tell him why and how this stranger and he are meant to be.

“He’s really cute. Like Really cute with a capital ‘R’, I promise. I wouldn’t lead you astray!” 

Louis raises an eyebrow because that is definitely not altogether true and although that dancer that Perrie knew was very well-versed in bedroom activities, they just hadn’t clicked. Louis is wary, alright?

“Okay, maybe once or twice,” Perrie concedes, waving her hand around, “but I’m serious, he’s your age and I think he mentioned he worked at some sort of a clinic, and he usually looks well dressed every time he comes into the store, and his music taste is great-”

“Great for you, or great for me?” Louis internally chastises himself – he wasn’t going to indulge her by asking questions but Louis is curious, obviously, and also nosey, and he likes knowing things, okay?

Perrie falters and Zayn grins, but Liam tuts disapprovingly.

“Louis, just because somebody doesn’t have the same music taste as you doesn’t mean you can’t be compatible! Keep your options open!” 

Sometimes, Louis wants to hit Liam in the back of the head – lightly – and tell him to get accustomed to the world. Not just about the music thing (he might be right about the music thing), but about most things in life. A very naïve boy from a well off family, he grew up playing football and boxing on the side, found himself scouted, and suddenly he played for one of the biggest, most important teams in the UK. It all seemed, to Louis anyway, that it was somewhat handed to him. Don’t get Louis wrong, he loves Liam, met him through the club and brought him into his self-proclaimed Gang of Misfits, which had only included Zayn at the time. 

(Louis went on a date to a museum once, when he first found himself in a big city without his family, and like expected it went terribly, except for the fact that he caught the eye of a very attractive model and brought him home instead. Whoops. Zayn, only a model in Louis’ mind apparently but actually an up and coming important curator of a very swanky museum, strangely took a liking to Louis, and instead of fucking they sat on Louis’ thin mattress – he didn’t have any money for a bedframe yet – and smoked up and talked about life and became blood brothers in theory.) 

(Zayn met Perrie at the music store where she worked and came home and said, “I fell in love today”, and Louis made him tea, and three months later Perrie became a member of the Gang of Misfits. He should change the name to something more fitting as per the fact that all four of them have very stable jobs)

Louis wants to bring up the name change of the gang.

“I do not like quirky people,” Louis says instead. His friends laugh. Quite rude, if Louis does say so himself.

“You don’t actively like them,” Zayn says, pointing his fork full of chicken at Louis, “but I know you’re destined to end up with one.”

“You psychic now? You a medium? Can you communicate with the dead?” Louis says sarcastically and it’s really a mark of a good friend that Zayn doesn’t stab him with his chicken fork. Fork full of chicken. Whatever.

“Whatevs,” Zayn says shrugging, “be unhappy forever, see if I care.”

Louis knows he’ll care and that’s why they’re best friends. Louis picked a good bunch. 

“Anyway, his name is Harry and he’s cute and smart, so just give me the word and I’ll invite him out with us next time! Okay?” Perrie is pleading with him. She’s almost begging.

“I’m not looking for a relationship,” Louis says. Which is a lie, kind of, because Louis is lonely but Louis is also not stupid. And relationships are stupid. Thus, the kind-of-lie.

“I know that,” Perrie says. Which is also a lie. She knows Louis too well. How annoying.

“Fine. I will let you know when or if I am ready. But until then you cannot bring this quirky Harry with maybe-great music taste to any of our nights out, alright?”

Perrie grins widely and nods, and she’s so thrilled that Louis can’t even find it inside himself to regret half-agreeing.

xx

Louis gets hurt a month into the season.

Of course he does. 

 

All he can remember is suddenly being airborne and then the feeling of grass on his face. And then searing pain everywhere.

 

“Tommo, look at me! Where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere - ”

“ _Where?_ ”

And then –

“My back.”

 

“Disc herniation,” the team doctor says, looking from the X-rays to Louis, in an open back clinical sheet-dress that is doing absolutely nothing for his figure. “It’s slight, thankfully, since this normally does not present in such young athletes.”

“What’s going to happen?” Louis says, sitting up from laying on the half-hard slab covered in crunchy paper slowly, his mid to lower back groaning in frustration. It hurts, sure, but Louis was definitely sure he could keep playing so as soon as they got him to the locker room he tried to stand on his own, which was a bad idea. It took him a few hours for the pain to subside but _apparently_ he was still injured. A sore back? And he’s “out until possibly the end of the season”? Absolute bullshit, that’s what Louis thinks. 

“So I can’t play?” He doesn’t mean for his voice to come out watery and sad and generally pathetic, but it does anyway. Paul looks down at him, pityingly. 

“Absolutely not,” Paul says sternly, but kindly. Somehow. “You’ve gotta rest up, get better cos we’ll be in the finals of the Champions League, I know this team has got it, yeah? You gotta be there, Tommo, we need you.”

“You need me now!” Louis says angrily, hands curling into fists. “I’ve been playing so well, I’m second in leading goals, you can’t take me out, Coach, honestly, I’m fine, I promise.”

The doctor chuckles and shakes his head.

“Sorry, Mr. Higgins, but Mr. Tomlinson is in no state to play.”

“But you just said I can walk out of here! You said I can have a normal life! And my normal life includes football.”

“I’m very sorry, but not anymore. At least, not for a while.” The doctor looks apologetic but also like he would very much like it if Louis and Paul left. Louis looks angrily down at his phone and sees nine texts and three phone calls from Zayn, a phone call from Perrie, and two texts from Lottie that says _pls text back the telly isnt telling us anything lou_ and _im serious u twat text me back, we’re worried_. Which definitely means his injury was broadcast all over the UK and possibly the world and isn’t that just the greatest thing? “United forward, Louis “Tommo” Tomlinson, falls from the top again – literally”. He can see the headlines. 

(He texts Lottie back, _don’t say twat, charlotte. I’m fine, tell mum I’ll call her tmrs. Just some silly back issue, I’m up and walking and everything. Love u_ ) 

“I’ve set up a physiotherapy appointment for you, tomorrow at 10am, I wrote it all down on a card, here,” the team doctor hands him a small white card which Louis shoves into his trackies as he pulls them on slowly. Very slowly. Fuck, his back hurts. 

“Did you book him with a good one? We need Tommo playing as soon as his back is willing to cooperate,” Paul says.

“Booked him with the very best; his name is Dr. Styles. Quite young, around Mr. Tomlinson’s age I think, but I’ve never seen someone fix someone up quite as quick as him,” the doctor says genuinely. “You’ll be in good hands,” he adds to Louis, who just grumbles a thank you. He feels like a petulant child.

He grumbles all the way to the door while Paul chuckles lightly, opening it for him to reveal Liam, still in his kit.

“Tommo!” Liam cries, leaping out off the bench under his locker. He comes over and hugs Louis, and sure, his back is sore but he could definitely play, and this is realized to him when Liam squeezes him tightly and nothing hurts. 

“Nothing hurts,” Louis says to Paul. “My back always hurts, my whole body always hurts during football season.”

Paul shakes his head.

“You may not feel anything, but you could be seriously injured if you don’t get that ‘slightly herniated disc’ fixed, and you’re an asset to this team, Louis, we can’t lose you for real.”

Louis wants to keep arguing but Paul sounds so genuine and caring that he ends up just patting his coach’s arm, and instructing Liam to drive him home.

“I need beer and to kick your and Zayn’s arse in Fifa,” Louis says, sagging against Liam, suddenly overcome with the thought and feeling of no football. Strong, dependent Liam. 

“Right,” Liam says. “Sounds like a plan.”

 

Louis loses to Liam in their FIFA tournament, and just barely beats Zayn, which is weird because Zayn _sucks_. 

He feels like it’s a sign.

xx

Louis is late to his physiotherapy appointment.

It all starts when he cuts himself shaving. He’s going through his normal morning routine, meticulously shaving and thinking about what he could do after his appointment when he nicks himself, right in the spot under his jaw. Once he stops the flow of blood – why does such a small cut bleed so much? – he goes into the kitchen to make himself breakfast, since Zayn has apparently already left. He burns his eggs and his coffee. He should’ve just gone to the bakery near the train station. Then he just misses the tube, literally just, like he sees it pulling away as he barrels his way through the slow-your-roll barricades, and this is definitely not his day at all. It’s a Wednesday, isn’t humpday supposed to be the good day?

Finally, he gets to the physiotherapy office – Winston Physiotherapy Clinic – ten minutes late and rushes in, feeling frazzled and frustrated.

The room he walks into is a small common-like area, filled with couches and chairs, a small coffee table and an end table supporting countless gossip mags and newspapers alike. Louis can see some theoretical books, too. The couches are a deep blue and the walls are a soft beige, and it’s all very inviting. There are plants littering the room, offsetting the paintings hanging on the walls in a nice, comfortable way, and sort of giving the room a sort of… life. And there’s a person waiting on one of the couches. So also giving the room life. Louis shakes his head; maybe his injury has made his brain addled instead of his back. 

“Hello!”

Louis turns towards the voice, towards the desk, and walks over. There’s a woman around his age sitting behind a computer screen with long brown hair, smiling kindly at him. “What can I help you with?” 

“Hi,” Louis says shortly to the woman behind the receptionist desk. He doesn’t mean to be rude; he just wants to get in and out as fast as possible. “I have an appointment at ten – or, well, I was supposed to be here at ten but the tube was late, well actually I missed it, but I understand if you need to reschedule my appointment, I don’t expect to be given courtesies – ”

“It’s okay,” the receptionist laughs, typing something into the computer. “Dr. Styles doesn’t have another appointment until after noon, I reckon he’s just playing a game on his phone while he waits.”

Louis breathes out a sigh of relief. He’s glad that he doesn’t have to reschedule, leaving and coming back would be worse than just getting it over with. Louis suddenly remembers the other person sitting in the waiting room, a woman if he can remember correctly, and his eyes flick over to his just as he opens his mouth.

“Don’t worry, that patient is waiting for a different doctor. Dr. Styles is ready for you, so just go ahead down the hallway and go through the second door on your right.”

“Thanks so much,” Louis says gratefully, “Ms…”

“Calder,” the receptionist responds, smiling, “but you can call me Eleanor. Come back to the desk when you’re done your appointment and we’ll set up the next one.” 

“Thanks, Eleanor!” Louis says as he walks towards the hallway. Maybe this appointment won’t be so bad. The team doctor had said that Dr. Styles was one of the best, and Louis hopes that he’s right. He wants to be back in shape and ready to play as soon as possible. When he gets to the second door on his right – second star on the right, Louis thinks with a smile – he knocks twice, short and firm.

“Come in!” a deep voice calls from inside. Louis opens the door and walks in, hopes his posture is good and he looks ready to get fixed. He’s terrified, is the thing; he has no idea what to expect. He’s terrified that after one look at his back the doctor is going to say that he can never play again and possibly never walk and other countless bad things. Louis never said he was an optimist. 

Whatever he was expecting, though, was definitely not this.

Dr. Styles is around his age, and possibly younger, and definitely hotter. Definitely hot. Super hot. The hottest. 

“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson,” Dr. Styles says, getting from his chair and offering a hand, “my name is Dr. Styles, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Yes,” Louis says before his brain can catch up with him because yes it is very nice to meet Dr. Styles but also bad because hot doctors can’t touch their patients inappropriately which is what Louis wants to happen. “I mean, hi, yes, sorry, you can call me Louis.”

“Great,” Dr. Styles laughs pleasantly. Louis is pretty sure harps start playing. “If you could just follow me this way, we’ll chat for a bit and get started.”

“’kay,” Louis says dumbly, following Dr. Hottie through a door he hadn’t noticed. 

“So, Louis, your team’s doctor sent me all the x-rays and reports on your back, and I’m happy to say that your recovery won’t be as long as he initially guessed it to be.”

Louis is not listening very well. Louis is thinking about Dr. Styles’ mouth and how cherry-red his lips are and how green his eyes are and then he’s thinking about Christmas and how he kind of, crazily, wants to spend it with Dr. Styles and he literally knows nothing about him except that he’s very, very pretty, and obviously very smart, and very pretty. 

But Dr. Styles’ words catch up to him.

“Sorry, what? My recovery? Shorter?” Louis needs to get a handle on his brain. 

“Yes,” Dr. Styles smiles, wide and genuine. “I think we’ll be able to get you back on the pitch by semi-finals.”

“You think they’ll make it that far without me?” Louis says before he can help himself, and he’s joking, of course, but the filter on his mouth is apparently not working today. At least if he tries to make jokes he won’t say something about how he wants to lick the skin stretched between Dr. Styles’ neck and collarbone. He’s usually better behaved than this. 

Dr. Styles laughs again. Definitely harps. And possibly angels singing. 

“Maybe not, but let’s hope so. You can get better and then show-up and help them win the title again. We don’t want Chelsea or ManCity to win it, do we?”

Louis is surprised.

“You a fan?”

“Absolutely,” Dr. Styles’ enthuses, his face lighting up. “I love football, my stepdad used to take me out to the pitch near our house and try to teach me how to play.”

“Did he?” Louis asks. “Teach you, I mean. Are you any good? Maybe you can take my spot on the team.”

“Oh, I’m particularly awful,” Dr. Styles says, laughing again ( _never stop laughing_ Louis thinks wildly). With my knowledge and understanding of the football game…I feel like I should be a lot better at football. Need you back on the team, Tomlinson, gotta win again this year!”

Before Louis can even breathe he has a list compiled in his mind of why this appointment is The Worst Thing to Ever Happen to Him. Number one: his hot physiotherapist is a fan of football, of _his team’s football_ especially. Number two: he called him Tomlinson. Number three: that he’s into hot men _calling_ him Tomlinson. Number four: how goddamn slowly Dr. Styles speaks. Like molasses and sugar, littered with breathy chuckles and lip licking, and Louis needs a cold shower, maybe. 

“Well,” Louis says, his voice a tad scratchy and a lot embarrassing, “fix me right up and we’ll definitely win again.”

Dr. Styles grins, and it’s a completely different smile than what he gave Louis when he first walked through the door. Maybe Louis is imagining it, but it looks slightly dirty and slightly like a challenge, and Louis is super into it. And so, so screwed. 

“Good that,” the doctor says professionally, but still grinning. “Alright, Louis. Take your shirt off and get on the exam table face down, please.” 

Louis chokes.

Dr. Styles’ back is turned like he wants to give Louis some privacy as he takes his shirt off. Louis tries to breathe in some dignity quietly but it’s difficult. Louis would put on a strip show for Dr. Styles. Louis would do anything he asked him to do, realistically. He gets onto the exam table, the cold paper crinkling, and lies down on his stomach. Louis Tomlinson, face down, naked except for trackies, waiting to be ravished by a hot bloke. That should probably go on his tombstone. Louis makes a mental note to tell Zayn. 

Louis turns his head so he can see Dr. Styles. It looks like he’s warming his hands up by rubbing them together as he hums under his breath. Louis takes the moment to check him out, and not in the sexual way, for once. Kind of. Dr. Styles is definitely young, 24 or 25, probably early in his career. Must be pretty good if Premier League doctors are making appointments for their players with him, Louis muses. Dr. Styles also looks like he might be losing feeling in his groin area because his pants are tight. Like, they’re not too tight that he’ll never be able to have children, but definitely tight enough that they would be a struggle to get off. Louis’ mind wanders to Dr. Styles’ taking his pants off at night before he crawls into a bed – probably only a Queen, not a King despite the fact he can probably afford it – and reads a book. He definitely looks like a reader. He’s wearing a light grey button up shirt, buttoned to the second top most button and the sleeves are rolled up to three-quarter lengths revealing a few tattoos on his left arm. If Louis wasn’t attracted to him before (laughable, really), he certainly is now.

But Dr. Styles’ hair. His hair is what pulls Louis in the most. It’s the most chesnuty brown he’s ever seen with lighter highlights threading through his curls like he’s really not a doctor and instead a shampoo commercial model. What was that hot doctor’s name on Greys Anatomy with the good hair? McHotite? McFuckme? Louis can’t remember. Louis can’t think of much, really, except that he wants to touch Dr. Styles’ curls and poke his fingers through the ringlets littering his head.

Dr. Styles finally turns around and smiles at Louis.

“Alright, Louis, what I’m gonna do is pretty simple. Today we’re just going to do a deep tissue massage, get your back loosened up and ready to start healing itself. If you feel any pains or discomfort, you need to let me know right away, okay?”

“Okay,” Louis says, closing his eyes, waiting.

“Alright, you’re going to feel my hands on your back in a second, don’t be alarmed.” 

Louis almost scoffs before he realizes that 1) Dr. Styles’ hands are going to be on his back, and 2) his back is bare. Naked. Hot doctor hands on his naked back. He’s going to need to keep himself in check because this could go totally wrong and Louis will need a new physiotherapist and that’s the last thing he wants. 

Dr. Styles puts his right hand on Louis’ right shoulder blade, anchoring him, kneading the heel of it into the muscle there. He puts his left hand a few inches lower on the left side of his back and slowly starts moving that hand deeper into his flesh, his fingers dancing firmly against Louis’ side. Louis can surprisingly already feel his back loosen up, and then Dr. Styles moves his hands so they’re switched; his right hand massaging his upper right back and his left hand massaging his upper left. It feels amazing. But also – 

“Ungh,” Louis mumbles out when Dr. Styles runs his hands over a particularly tight space.

“What did you just feel?” Dr. Styles asks, hands stilling. “Tell me exactly what you felt and where.”

“Uh, the middle of my back felt a little weird when you pressed on my, um, upper right? shoulder. I think.”

Dr. Styles presses down lightly where Louis says and he feels that weird feeling in the middle of his back.

“Did you feel it again?” Louis nods and Dr. Styles hums, continuing his massage of Louis’ entire back. “That’s normal, actually. Your back never gets this much release, even when you’re at the top of your exercise regime for football, so it’s just loosening up. Weird can be good or bad, so we’ll keep an eye on it. Does anything else feel weird, or off?”

Louis has a hard time answering. Dr. Styles is still rubbing his hands into Louis’ back, deeply and firmly, smoothing out what feels like wrinkles underneath his skin. He uses his thumb to loosen up knots that Louis didn’t even know he hand and it hurts a little, sometimes, but whenever Louis makes a noise – whether out of discomfort or relaxation – Dr. Styles stops and asks him where it hurt and how it hurt. Despite Louis’ previous thoughts that the appointment would be horrible, it actually goes pretty well. 

Until Louis’ stupid brain has the stupid thought that Dr. Styles’ hands, while side-by-side on his back, span over almost the entire expanse. Louis wants to inspect the doctor’s hands thoroughly. He wants to map out the lines that run through his hands, wants to see what they look like writing or painting, playing pattycake, cooking – he just wants to see them do anything. Louis is starting to get uncomfortable in his trackies and he prays that the appointment is almost over because he doesn’t think he can last much longer not thinking dirty thoughts of Dr. Styles’ hands. 

Dr. Styles stops massaging him – he was using his elbows and Louis was in slight discomfort but it still felt good which left him quite confused – and instructs Louis to put his shirt back on.

Louis gets up slowly, feeling groggy as he tugs his shirt back over his head.

“That went quite well, Louis,” Dr. Styles says, writing something in Louis’ chart before sliding it into the folder. “I’m very optimistic that you’ll be back with your team very soon.”

Louis can only nod. He needs to go home, have a cold shower, and eat a lot of junk on the couch while he moans at Zayn about being in love with his physiotherapist.

“We’ll have Eleanor make an appointment for you, but in the mean time I want you to stay loose, okay? Make sure you get up and move around if you’ve been sitting too long, but don’t do any hard exercise, yeah? Loosening up your back is what we want to happen, we don’t want you to over exert yourself,” Dr. Styles says and Louis just keeps nodding.

“So, like, just casual moving? I can’t run that 10k I was planning?”

Dr. Styles stares at him blankly for a second before cracking a smile.

“Very funny, Louis,” he says, standing up and leading him to the door. “Just don’t stay in one position too long –”

Louis’ brain goes haywire.

“ – and maybe try some really easy, soft yoga poses.”

Louis’ brain is back to normal.

“Yoga?” he says dumbly.

“Just casual stretches, nothing to worry about!” Dr. Styles chirps as they get to the receptionist desk. “El, can you book an appointment for Mr. Tomlinson here for next week, whatever day and time is best for him.” He turns to Louis and extends his hand, smiling. “Pleasure to meet you Louis, keep your back loose and I’ll see you next week.”

“Bye, Dr. Styles,” Louis says in the most professional tone he can find within himself as they shake hands, “thanks, have a good week.” When Dr. Styles is back in his office, Louis lets out a sigh he didn’t know he was holding.

Eleanor looks up sympathetically.

“I know,” she says, typing something into the computer. Louis almost pisses himself. Is he that obvious? “You must really miss playing, although it’s only been a day or so. I promise, Dr. Styles is really good, you’ll be back in no time.”

Louis sighs again, out of relief. Eleanor hands him a card that has the date and time of his next appointment written neatly.

“Until next week, Mr. Tomlinson,” Eleanor says.

Louis waves her goodbye, sliding the card into his wallet as he heads towards the train station.

xx

The second Louis steps out of his room on Friday he’s met with Liam ow-owing, in the most awkward voice he’s ever heard, and Perrie whistling.

“Is he wearing that wide neck burgundy tee with black jeans that are actually definitely jeggings?” Zayn asks the room at large without looking up from his book. Honestly, they’re going out to a bar in public to drink alcohol with other people for the first time since the infamous ‘stumbling-out-of-club’ pictures, and Zayn is “pre-drinking” while reading a book.

Louis huffs out a breath and goes to the mirror in the hallway, poking at his quiff trying to get stray pieces back in place. “They are _not_ jeggings,” Louis mutters. 

“He is,” Perrie muses, giving him a once-over. “Again. Trying to pull, Lou?”

“No,” Louis says shortly, turning away from the mirror. “I happen to just like looking good while in public, you know.” And if there are pictures taken of him while in this outfit, that’s not bad either. 

“C’mon, let’s go!” Liam exclaims, stalking to the door and pulling it wide open. “We want a table, yeah? You know how busy it gets when we don’t get there on time.”

“Liam,” Zayn says plainly, “it gets busy whether we get there on time or not, our presence doesn’t affect it, yeah?” Zayn is so nice to Liam. Louis just laughs at him, mostly.

It’s a short walk to the bar, the weather just a bit cold that Louis has to run back into the flat to grab a jacket, but it’s nice. There’s a small line forming just outside of the bar doors, which isn’t that surprising but thanks to Liam and his flirtationship with one of the bartenders, they’re let in ahead of the line.

Inside, the bar is full to the point that Louis gets overwhelmingly hot the second he steps over the threshold. He hands his jacket over to Zayn so he can take all their coats to be checked, and follows Liam to the bar with Perrie in tow.

“Jesy!” Liam shouts over the thumping music, sidling up to the bar top where Jesy is already pouring two pints of a beer while a strawberry daiquiri and a whiskey sour sit by, waiting.

“Already saw ya,” Jesy grins as she pushes the drinks towards the end of the bar, “was hoping you guys would be round tonight, ‘m feeling a bit lonely, yeah?” Louis looks just in time to see Liam blush a deep scarlet red but he looks happy about it so Louis doesn’t bother him, for once. 

“Thanks, Jesy,” Louis says, fishing into his pocket to grab some bills. Jesy waves her hand and laughs.

“No, no, first round is on the house, enjoy!” Louis grins at her and mouths thank you as he hands the whiskey sour to Perrie and the strawberry daiquiri to Zayn when he appears behind her.

“Cheers, mate,” Zayn says taking a hearty sip from his very vibrant pink drink. “This is so delicious and if you think your beer tastes better, you’re fooling yourself, man.” Louis laughs and he feels light and happy and his back doesn’t hurt much at all and everything is, well. It’s good, is what it is. 

They finish their drinks standing by the bar in record time and Zayn orders them another round. Perrie drags Liam off towards the dance floor just to “loosen him up for Jesy” which has Liam’s face going a dark shade of red to match his already creeping drunk-blush, but he lets her lead him away anyway. They’re gone for a while; Louis can see Perrie teaching Liam how to “twerk” – don’t ask him how he knows what that is – and it’s so funny that it has him and Zayn laughing from across the bar. His laughter is abruptly cut short.

Dr. Styles is at the bar. He is at the bar that Louis is at. The same bar.

“Zayn,” Louis says loudly and shortly. “ _Zayn_.” Zayn looks at him, expectantly. Louis just points at Dr. Styles.

He’s wearing a black t-shirt that hangs off his shoulders and black jeans that are maybe impossibly tighter than the ones he was wearing at Louis’ appointment. His hair is styled differently too – at Louis’ appointment, the doctor’s hair was styled enough that he looked professionally but still had boyish curl. But tonight, at the bar, Dr. Styles’ hair is styled up in a half-quiff, with some curls falling out, framing his face. Even from across the bar Louis can tell he’s a little tipsy. 

“He’s hot,” Zayn muses, eyes flickering between Dr. Styles and Louis. “Do you know him?”

“ _He’s my physiotherapist_ ,” Louis hisses instead of shouting because in that exact moment, Dr. Styles sees him. His face lights up and he says something to the friend he’s with – a lively looking blond man, holding two pints – and then starts walking towards Louis.

“The one you told me about the other day? With the nice hands and mouth?” Zayn is talking really loudly. Far too loudly. Dr. Hottie can probably hear him and he’ll get so creeped out that Louis will have to find another clinic to go to and he really doesn’t want to have to do that –

“Louis!” Dr. Styles says when he finally reaches the pair, “nice to see you, how’s it going?”

Louis can say for certain that Dr. Styles has had some drinks. A few drinks. His voice his loose and definitely not as posh and professional as he sounded a few days ago, and his lips are even redder than before, and his eyes are alight, and Louis wants to kiss him.

“Hi,” he says instead of kissing him which is a complete shame, really. “Everything is good, how are you?”

“I’m good, thanks, just out for some drinks with co-workers, trying to remember what being young actually feels like.” Louis laughs and it’s a real life even though it’s not even funny whatsoever and he can literally feel Zayn give him a funny look. Right, Zayn.

“Oh, Zayn, sorry, this is –”

“HARRY!”

All three of them turn to see Perrie running full speed at Dr. Styles. Louis is confused. He hears the doctor laugh and exclaim, “Perrie!”, as he scoops her up in a hug. Liam joins them a second later, looking tired, drunk, and confused. Zayn, on the other hand, doesn’t look confused anymore and instead looks elated and somewhat mischievous. Louis is very confused.

“I’m confused,” Louis states. Perrie looks away from Dr. Styles and smiles sweetly at Louis. 

“Lou, this is my friend Harry! He comes into the music store like twice a week, I’ve probably mentioned him a few times,” Perrie says, eyes boring into Louis’ with fire. 

“You know Louis?” Dr. Styles asks Perrie, reaching out to shake Zayn’s hand. “You must be Zayn then, I’ve heard a lot about you!” They shake hands and Louis’ brain is starting to short-circuit.

“Yeah,” Perrie says, “he’s Zayn’s roommate, how do you know him?” Louis probably should have told Perrie about his hot doctor because this situation might have been avoided. 

“I’m his physiotherapist,” Dr. Styles explains, chuckling. “What a small world.”

“Yeah,” Louis squeaks. 

“Do you know what this means, Louis?” Louis shakes his head and wonders how this is his life. “It means that we’re automatically friends, since we have mutual friends. How wonderful! It’ll make appointments much more fun.”

Louis might stop breathing, but he recovers pretty quickly.

“Well then,” he says in his most professional tone, sticking out his hand. “My name’s Louis, nice to meet you.”

“Harry,” Dr. Styles – _Harry_ – says, grasping his hand. “Likewise, mate.”

They let go of each other’s hands and Liam says, “uh, hi I’m Liam?” and everybody laughs and Louis is so, so screwed. 

Harry spends the rest of the night with Louis and his friends, eventually calling over his own friend, the blond guy Louis saw him with earlier. His name is Niall, and he’s also a physiotherapist at the place where Harry works. Louis likes him right away; he’s funny, easy-going, likes to drink, and makes fun of people he doesn’t know but in a lighthearted way. He has a feeling him and Niall will get on swimmingly. 

At the end of the night when the group splits up and says their goodbyes, Harry invites them all to come back to the bar Thursday night for an open-mic event.

“My friend is doing a set and he’s really good,” Harry explains as Niall helps him into his coat. His cheeks are flushed and his mouth is sin and it seems like he’s only talking to Louis. “And Perrie told me that Zayn can sing and that you, Louis, can too, and you guys should do a duet or something…”

He trails off. It’s silent between the six of them, everyone looking at Louis in the moonlight. Harry looks so earnest that Louis can’t say no to him. He doesn’t even know him, but he thinks that someday he will, and the thought scares him. But it doesn’t’ scare him enough to deprive such a beautiful boy of his presence.

“Yeah, ‘course. We’ll be there.” Niall and Liam both whoop, and Perrie says yes under her breath and Zayn just smiles. “But there will be no dueting.”

“We’ll see about that,” Harry says, grinning. “See you Monday for your appointment!” Harry shouts as Niall manhandles him into the cab. The door shuts and the cab speeds off, leaving Louis and his friends in the middle of the street.

“Well then,” Liam says. Louis doesn’t look at him; he’s still staring at the spot where the cab was. “That was…interesting.”

“I knew they would hit it off,” Perrie says as they start to walk back to Louis and Zayn’s apartment. “I’m a genius.”

“I thought Louis was bad,” Zayn says, lighting up a cigarette. “But Harry’s just the same…Couldn’t keep his eyes off him, could he?”

Louis turns and looks at him sharply.

“What?” Zayn says in faux innocence, raising his hands, “I’m just tellin’ it like it is, mate, he couldn’t stop looking at you.”

“Stop,” Louis whines, “he’s my doctor, nothing’s going to happen so let it go.”

None of them respond, but Louis knows what they’re thinking. He’s just completely drawn to Harry, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t want Harry to be drawn to him too.

xx

When Louis gets to Harry’s office on Monday, the door is already open and Harry is lounging in his chair with his feet on his desk, playing a game that has shooting sounds emitting from his phone.

“Knock knock,” Louis says.

“Who’s there?” Harry says without looking up.

“Um, Louis?”

“Louis who?”

“…Tomlinson?”

Harry finally looks up, blankly. 

“That’s a terrible knock-knock joke,” he says seriously. Louis groans and rolls his eyes. Why did he ever think this manchild was cool?

“You are the epitome of professionalism,” Louis says without meaning to. His heart stops momentarily as he realizes how rude he sounds, but Harry just laughs and stands, beckons Louis into the exam room. 

“Good weekend?” Harry asks as he washes his hands and grabs Louis’ chart from the counter. Louis nods, hoping up on the exam table.

“Yeah, it was alright. Hung around with Liam and Perrie and I went to see that new Tom Cruise movie.”

“Ooh,” Harry hums, looking up at him from the chart. “Was it any good? The trailer looked pretty interesting.”

“Don’t know,” Louis shrugged. “I feel asleep ten minutes in.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head.

“Loads of help you are,” he says mockingly. “Now take your shirt off.”

Louis doesn’t even miss a beat. He should get a medal.

 

After the appointment – a more painful one today, unfortunately – when Louis is putting his shirt back on, wincing as little as possible, Harry asks for his number.

“You know, cause we’re friends now,” Harry explains when Louis doesn’t move towards his phone. He looks nervous, Louis thinks, and he thinks, maybe we can…, and he thinks of all the possibilities, and he thinks.

And then he stops.

He hands his phone over to Harry, who looks more relieved than he should be, and they exchange numbers walking out towards Eleanor’s desk. 

“Same time next week?” Eleanor asks. Louis nods and she types something into the computer then hands him a hand written business card with the date and time. “Incase you forget.”

Louis smiles at her and then turns to thank Harry, whose brows are furrowed as he holds his stomach.

“You hungry?” Harry asks before Louis can say anything. “It’s my lunch break and ‘m starving.”

Louis weighs the pros and cons. (There are no cons.)

“I could eat,” he says easily, shrugging casually despite his insides twisting up nervously. Harry smiles brightly. 

“Okay, great, let me just get my wallet.”

Louis stands awkwardly in front of Eleanor’s desk while Harry runs back into his office. When he comes back out, they both wave to Eleanor, and when Louis looks back, she’s watching them with a knowing smile on her face. 

It’s not a date, except it kind of is.

Louis insists on paying and it doesn’t mean anything, of course not. He only paid because Harry bought one of the rounds when they were at the bar, and he owes him is all. 

Harry argues and tries to grab the bill when it arrives at their table, but Louis slides his credit card in so quickly that he doesn’t have a chance.

“Thanks,” Harry says genuinely, “but next time I pay.”

Louis’ stomach swoops at “next time”. He just laughs and motions to their food.

“Mate, it was just a burger and fries, it’s really okay.”

“Still,” Harry says, shrugging, taking a sip of his milkshake. “Next time is on me.”

So, it’s not a date. Yet.

xx

They text each other all day Tuesday and Louis feels like a teenage girl. They talk about inane things, like if grass can feel when it’s walked on, or whether beer has any nutritional value. Louis’ been lounging on the couch all day, watching _America’s Next Top Model_ reruns with Zayn who has the day off, when Zayn finally snaps at him around lunchtime to “turn that fuckin’ ringtone off or so help me I will throw your phone off the balcony.”

“Touchy touchy,” Louis mutters, but switches his phone to silent anyway.

“Are you actually still texting Harry?” Zayn asks, looking at him over his book. “Doesn’t he have patients he should be attending to?”

Louis hadn’t even thought of that. He ignores Zayn and unlocks his phone, doesn’t see Zayn shake his head affectionately. 

_don’t u have patients or something_

_Nah, it’s a slow day today. Do you think people can learn how to sing? Or is it just like natural ?_

_idk, prob a mix of both?_

_Hmmm, yeah. Probably._

_….why?_

_No reason :) hey, what are you doing tomorrow? I have the day off_

“Zayn,” Louis says, looking at the ceiling. “Harry has the day off tomorrow.”

“Fuck him,” Zayn says helpfully.

“ _Zayn_.”

Zayn scoffs. “Like you don’t want to. But, yeah, hang out with him.”

“Should I?”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t it, like, illegal?”

“To be friends with your doctor?” Zayn says exasperatedly. “No, Louis.”

_don’t think so, why?_

Zayn leans over and reads the text. He shakes his head and stands, wandering into the kitchen muttering about true love and shit Louis doesn’t need to hear from anyone since his brain is saying the same thing all the time when he thinks about Harry. Which is far too often. 

_Have you been to the new aquarium? I haven’t but it looks soooo sick_

_nah I haven’t! pez went and she said it was incredible tho_

_Let’s go!!!_

“Zayn, he wants to go to the aquarium with me,” Louis shouts, jumping off the couch and slip-sliding across the hardwood into the kitchen. 

“And?” Zayn says, not even looking up from making his sandwich. 

“And?” Louis exclaims. “And should I go? Is this a date? What do I wear? How do I act? What do I wear?”

“Have you even said yes yet?”

_yeah! I love fish_

“I'm an idiot,” Louis announces, showing Zayn the text. Zayn just laughs. 

_Sick. I’ll pick you up at 11? We can beat the afternoon rush!_

Louis texts back a quick response and then grabs Zayn’s plate and takes off towards his room.

“LOUIS!”

“Come help me pick out what to wear, you can eat your sandwich in here!”

Louis sets the plate down on his desk and goes straight to his closet, mind whirling. 

“I hate you so much,” Zayn says matter-of-fact when he gets to the room, plopping himself on Louis’ bed.

“Yeah, yeah,” Louis says, “but what should I wear?”

xx

Harry picks Louis up the day next in a black Range Rover, wearing sunglasses, a Rolling Stones t-shirt, and a very big smile.

Their car ride to the aquarium is silent, but not awkward. It’s nice. It’s a lovely day outside and the windows are down, and when Louis sneaks a glance at Harry he almost loses his breath. He looks angelic, sunlight framing his head and highlighting his curls that are pushed back with a bandanna. 

Harry catches him looking right as they pull into the car park but instead of giving him shit about it, he just smiles bigger if possible.

 

When Louis gets home he doesn’t tell Zayn his day was perfect, but it definitely thinks it. He and Harry spent the entire day flitting from one glass enclosure to another, pointing out their favourite and least favourite animals (Harry couldn’t choose one that he didn’t like), laughing, and being quite annoying to fellow aquarium goers and their children. Louis found he didn’t care. 

He started doing this thing, when he saw two fish near each other and then quickly swimming away, he would create a life-story for them. His stories were complete with different character voices, big waving hand gestures and, of course, happy endings. One of his stories, about a small town fish that swam away to the big city and accidentally became a prostitute had Harry in tears. 

Louis wants to make Harry laugh like that forever. 

But yeah, it was a good day. A great day. A Perfect day, to Louis. 

He barely says anything to Zayn and Perrie when he gets home and instead goes to his room and collapses on his bed, face down, thoughts whirling around one Harry Styles.

xx

They text everyday, most of the day, and Louis falls deeper into the rabbit hole. Zayn tells him to ask Harry out, “like for real, man, on a date,” every other day, but Louis declines because he’s not actually into Harry, he’s just hot. Perrie sits on the other end of the couch and doesn’t even pretend to believe him.

“It’s not like we can even be together, Pez,” he says petulantly into Perrie’s thigh as she strokes his hair. 

“I know, baby, but you should try anyway. Who knows what could happen?”

“We’re just friends.”

“Okay.”

“We are,” Louis stresses, pushing himself up onto his elbows. Perrie just hums non-committally and Zayn actually gets up and leaves.

xx

Louis wakes up on Friday with the hardest dick he’s had in a while.

He makes his way to the bathroom, half-asleep, fully hard, trying to remember what he was dreaming about. He slips into the shower and lets the water cascade down his body, refreshing it from the sheen of sweat glistening there. His right hand finds his dick and he starts to pump it slowly, brain still waking up, eyes half-closed. 

His body, that is, besides his dick, starts to respond to his touches and it wakes Louis up a little bit more, forcing him further into the shower stream. He rests his head on the tiles and quickens his pace, brain reaching for the last grasp of his dream –

Of Harry.

If Louis were a better person he would’ve stopped himself, would’ve made the shower colder instead of burrowing farther into his hand, into the wall, into his thoughts of Harry.

Harry with his curls in all their different ways, but especially out loose, soft ringlets bouncing around his eyes. His eyes boring into Louis’ as Louis tells him the story of a prostituting fish. His cherry red lips wrapped around the straw of his milkshake, sucking up the mix of vanilla and chocolate. His professional voice and his normal voice. His hands.

His hands on Louis’ dick, stroking hard and fast. His hands working Louis open slowly, his fingers brushing his prostate softly but expertly. His hands wrapped around Louis’ waist as Louis rides him, his hands creating bruises. His hands sliding down to Louis’ thighs when he comes, his face screwed up as Louis rides him out of it.

Louis comes.

He bucks into his own hand, panting, blurry thoughts of Harry becoming clear and then fading away. 

Louis sighs heavily. He starts cleaning himself off, suddenly dreading the open-mic night.

xx

Harry, Niall, and some of their co-workers are already at the bar when Louis and his friends get there. He knows this because he got four texts from Harry demanding to know where he was and when exactly he was going to get there. He did not get swoopy tummy because of it, Zayn, thank you very much.

Louis sees Harry at the exact same time Harry sees him. And then suddenly he’s wrapped up in a long armed hug with a face full of curls. They’ve never hugged, is the thing, and Louis is trying really hard not to bury his face into Harry’s neck – fuck, he is tall this close up – but when Harry pulls away, he doesn’t let go of Louis. He gives one-armed hugs to Zayn, Perrie, and Liam, keeping his other wrapped around Louis’ waist. And that’s. That’s different.

Louis likes it. 

He avoids Zayn’s eyes because he already knows exactly what he looks like, but he forgets about Perrie who looks like she just saw a rainbow or a kitten playing in a ball of fluff, or something. 

Harry leads them to the biggest booth in the bar, instructing his friends to move over and make room. Niall is there, and Eleanor who looks at Harry’s hand on his waist and then grins, and a girl named Jade, who also works with Harry. They all squish in, and it’s a tight fit, but it’s cosy, and Louis is squished between Harry and Eleanor. Harry’s hand leaves Louis’ waist but he’s relaxed against him, and it’s nice. It’s very nice.

Liam shows up with Jesy, both of them holding trays of drinks. Louis drinks his first beer really fast and if it has anything to do with Harry’s leg moving against his to the beat of the music he won’t admit it. The group sitting around the table get on really well. Nobody talks over anyone, they’re always laughing, the drinks are strangely always full (probably a mix of Jesy and Niall), and above all, Harry is warm and close next to him. 

An hour into drinking and laughing, the music starts to fade away and only the chatter of the patrons can be heard. It doesn’t bother Louis, really, he’s much too focused on the way Harry is telling a story, slow and deep, about the time his sister tried to French braid his hair when they were younger.

“No, I’m serious,” Harry says _very_ seriously in fact, “it was the most painful experience of my entire life and I’ve broken bones!” 

“Mate, she was like, eleven, how painful could braiding hair be?” Niall says, leaning over the table with a serious look on his face. “Also your sister is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She could never hurt anyone.”

It seems as though Harry ignores Niall’s second comment and instead says, “bro, my mum had to cut part of my hair off, it was tied up like a knot, it was terrible. Now Gemma wears her hair in a braid most of the time to mock me!”

“Your mum cut off your hair?” Louis says, scandalized and drunk. “How very dare she!”

“That’s what I said!”

“Is your sister actually hot?” Zayn asks, and now it’s Perrie’s turn to look scandalized.

“No,” Harry says shortly with a dark look at Niall, which has Louis laughing into his hand. 

“Yes!” Niall shouts at the same time. Harry looks at Jade, pleadingly, leaning across Louis to peer around Eleanor. 

“Jade,” Harry says sweetly, “Jadey Jade-Jade. My lovely Jade. Please can you tell our excellent company that my sister is not hot and also that Niall should stop saying so and also start being my best mate again instead of using me for my sister?”

“She is hot though,” she says matter-of-factly. The table roars in laughter and Harry sags against Louis looking like a kicked puppy.

“It’s so weird,” he whines into Louis’ collarbone and Louis’ skin is on fire. Why did he wear a wide neck t-shirt again?

“So, Jade,” Niall says, and he might be leering, “are you on Team Niall should Date Gemma?” Jade says yes at the same time Harry sits up. 

“Absolutely not,” Harry says sternly in his professional voice. Louis feels his stomach drop and his palms start to sweat. So that’s a thing, he supposes. Niall’s spluttered protest is cut short when a pleasant looking ginger approaches the table. Louis recognizes him as one of the other bartenders, but tonight he’s dressed in casual clothes, not his uniform.

“Ed!” Harry shouts, “join us!”

“Can’t, mate,” Ed says laughing, clinking his glass against Niall’s, “I’m about to go on stage.”

“Oooh, what are you gonna play?” Perrie asks. Ed shrugs, motioning at the guitar slung over his back.

“Whatever chords I play I guess.” The table laughs even though it’s not funny, and finally settles down when Ed taps the mic on the stage. 

“Hey, everyone,” he says, sufficiently quieting the rest of the bar. The dancefloor had cleared itself of dancing when the music stopped but people have taken up refuge there as spectators. 

“I’ve never been here for open-mic,” Louis whispers. Harry turns to him and grins mischievously.

“You’ll love it, I promise.”

Their faces are inches apart; so close that Louis can see different coloured flecks in Harry’s eyes and Harry can probably see how nervous Louis is. He’s the first one to break eye contact and he pretends not to notice how Harry deflates, just a little. 

Ed is really good. He’s like so good. Louis finds himself standing when he’s done his set, along with the rest of his table, clapping and cheering as loudly as possible. Ed grins at the bar and shushes them with his hands.

“Thanks so much, but save those cheers for the next act! Please give a warm welcome to one of my closest friends, Harry Styles!”

Louis’ heart stops.

“Surprise?” Louis barely hears Harry murmur to him before he’s sliding out of the booth and sauntering onstage. Louis is going into cardiac arrest, maybe. 

“Did you know this was going to happen?” Zayn says from across the table, craning his neck to look at Harry getting ready on stage. Louis doesn’t answer him, doesn’t look away from Harry fiddling with the mic so it’s at the right height, doesn’t look away when Harry perches himself on the stool, guitar positioned on his thighs, doesn’t look away when he looks directly at Louis and winks. 

“Don’t think so,” Eleanor says, a laugh in her voice. She whispers to Louis, “you’re in so deep.” He looks at her quickly, but she’s smiling and patting his arm. “It’s not a bad thing, look at how he looks at you.” Louis doesn’t know what to say, so he just smiles weakly, but he snaps his attention back to the stage when Harry clears his throat.

“Hey,” he says, somewhat awkwardly. “I haven’t done an open mic in a while…so, I hope you like it.”

He doesn’t look at Louis but Louis knows he’s talking to him. He is in so deep. 

Harry shakes his hair out and brushes a few pieces back, brings his gangly legs up to rest on the bottom of the stool, and starts to play. It takes Louis a second to place the song, but he can hear his friends recognize it at the exact same time. 

“I’ve been drinkin’, I’ve been drinkin’, I get filthy when that liquor’s in me, baby, I’ve been thinkin’, I’ve been thinkin’, why can’t I keep my fingers off it baby I want you, na na….”

Louis is definitely having a heart attack. Or he’s having a stroke and making this all up. Or he’s dead and this is heaven. Or hell. 

“Is this hell?” he says aloud, eyes transfixed on Harry. Nobody answers him. There’s a single spotlight, right above Harry, shining down on him like some angel as he sings filthy words. This is definitely hell. 

If Harry’s voice sounds like molasses and sugar when he speaks, it sounds like dripping chocolate when he sings. Louis can feel his skin heat up as his blood surges in his body, fingers itching to touching Harry, to feel him, to curl up around him while he sings. 

“You got me faded, faded, faded, baby, I want you, na-na...drunk in love, I want you…We woke up in the kitchen saying, ‘how the hell did this shit happen’, oh baby, drunk in love, we be all night…”

Louis is finding it hard to breathe, kind of. It’s like he’s in this bubble where nothing happens except Harry exists and right now he is existing while playing a very sexual song, every so often his eyes flickering to meet Louis’. A bubble that only contains HarryandLouis and nothing else. Louis wants to spread Harry out and map his body with his tongue, wants to rip that stupid loose white shirt right off his body and count every single tattoo he’s been able to see through it. 

And then Harry starts hitting these notes that Louis did not expect or could have even thought of, and people start to shout things, encourage, cheering, there’s an I love you! and it doesn’t come from Louis but for a split second he thinks it does.

“There we be all night, loooove, looove…we be all night, loooove, love..”

Louis remembers that he needs to breathe, so he takes a sip of his beer and tries to school himself into calming down. 

“…No complains from my body, so fluorescent under these lights, boy I’m drinkin’, park it in my lot, 7-11, I’m rubbin’ on it, you rubbin’ on it,” Harry half-sings, half-raps, as cheers rise up from the crowd. People love him. The crowd absolutely adores him and he soaks it up, smile broadening, shoulders relaxing. He should’ve been a performer instead of a physiotherapist. Louis didn’t even feel callouses on his hands during his massages. Louis is completely outraged. 

“…Boy I’m drinkin’, now I’m on the mic till my voice hoarse, then I fill the tub up halfway, then I ride it with my surfboard…surfboard, surfboard, graining on that wood, grain, grainin’ on that wood I’m swerving on that, swerve, swerving…”

Louis’ body is ready to stop functioning so he reaches across the table and grabs Zayn’s pack of cigarettes and slips out of the booth. He’s almost offended that nobody tries to stop him, but he realizes they’re all so wrapped up in Harry that they couldn’t focus on anything else. He can’t be mad at them; it’s been his life constantly for the last two weeks. 

When he makes it outside, the air is cooler than he expects but it’s still a nice change from the overwhelming heat inside – the temperature and the way Harry looked at him while singing _grainin’ on that wood_ …If Louis doesn’t get control of himself he’s going to pop a boner on a roof patio littered with cigarette butts. He stands in silence, looking out at the lights of the city for a few minutes. He’s about to light up the cigarette when a voice rings out.

“Tomlinson,” Harry says over the cheers presumably for the next performer, “that’s bad for you.” Louis’ stomach tightens. Harry shuts the door tightly behind him and all sound gets cut off, just leaving the night as a soundtrack.

Louis shrugs, but let’s his hands fall.

“I noticed you left during my song…” Harry says, trailing off. Louis can’t look at him. 

“It was really good,” Louis says quietly. “ _You_ were really good.” 

“Why’d you leave then?” Harry says, moving closer. Louis backs up a few steps, sees Harry falter. He lifts the cigarette and lights up, bringing it to his mouth.

“You shouldn’t smoke that,” Harry says, in a low, stern voice. 

“Why don’t you make me?” Louis says looking at Harry straight in the eyes for the first time, and it’s not like he says it on purpose, but he kind of does. He knows what happens when people say things like that, but it doesn’t stop him.

It doesn’t stop Harry either. 

Without taking his eyes off of Louis’, Harry takes the cigarette out of his hands and tosses it to the ground. Louis holds his breath, doesn’t move, doesn’t react when Harry presses his lips against his.

“Louis,” Harry murmurs against his lips, his hands finding Louis’ waist.

Louis doesn’t need convincing.

He kisses Harry with fire that he didn’t know was even in him. He feels Harry smile into the kiss before he deepens it, slowly walking Louis a few steps backward until his back is resting against the brick wall of the club. Harry’s hands tighten on his hips when Louis nips at his bottom lip, which Louis likes very much. He fists his hands in Harry’s shirt and brings him as close as possible, bodies completely flush. Harry pulls away to breathe but Louis reaches up and threads his fingers through the curls at the back of his neck and brings him back down, kisses him until he can taste the fruity vodka. Louis kisses him like he’s never kissed anyone before – kissing just to kiss, just to feel, instead of kissing to forget. Louis never wants to forget this.

“Is that all you’ve got?” Louis whispers into Harry’s hair when he bends down to peck and lick Louis’ neck. He feels Harry grin against his Adam’s apple and then Harry’s rolling his hips into Louis’ and Louis wants to take it back, now, please.

Except he doesn’t because Harry’s hips, apparently, should be illegal in most countries. A groan escapes Louis when he feels Harry’s dick brush his, both hard and obviously wanting, and Louis is just about to ask Harry if he maybe wants to go back to his when Harry pulls away and steps back.

“Fuck,” Harry says, running a hand through his hair while the other nervously rubs his neck. “Louis – ”

“I know,” Louis says, and he tries not to sound miserable. “I know.”

“You’re my patient…” Harry says and Louis doesn’t know if he’s trying to convince himself or Louis. “We shouldn’t.”

“Yeah,” Louis says, straightening up, fixing his shirt. Brushes his hair back, doesn’t think about Harry’s lips on his neck. 

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have – ” Harry starts, before Louis cuts him off with a laugh.

“It wasn’t just you, Haz, c’mon, it’s fine,” Louis says in a strained voice. He hopes Harry doesn’t notice.

“Yeah,” Harry says, looking awkward and guilty. When Louis looks at him he sees tousled hair and kissed lips and hooded eyes and he wants to see that all the time, wants to take Harry home and keep him there, preferably in bed but also in his kitchen and on his sofa and everywhere in his life and he doesn’t know how to not want that because obviously Harry doesn’t want that and Louis is so wrapped up in his thoughts of bringing Harry home to his family that he doesn’t notice when Harry slips back inside.

But it’s better that way, is the thing. Louis doesn’t have to pretend he’s okay with the way Harry pulled away guiltily like kissing Louis was a sin, doesn’t have to go back to the table freshly-kissed and freshly-left.

xx

The next day Harry texts Louis like normal, doesn’t mention their time together outside, only asks him if him and Zayn want to go to the cinema because Jade has four passes, and they do, and it’s normal, and Louis spends the entire time thinking about Harry’s lips.

 

They spend a lot of time together, suddenly. Casual outings to the mall for new socks, one of Louis’ team’s football games where they sit in the box and bitch about the other team while eating popcorn. One night Louis texts Harry, _i would prob kill a man for nandos right now_ because he’s craving ice cream and his first instinct is to text Harry. Always Harry.

_You're supposed to be staying in shape by eating well, lou_

Louis glares half-heartedly at his phone for a second before another text comes through saying

_Be there in 10, you’re buying_

And it’s. It’s how it is. They spend a lot of time together and they don’t kiss and that’s okay. It’s okay.

xx

“’kay, I’m leaving!” Louis shouts toeing his shoes on and grabbing his keys. He hears shouts from Zayn’s room and waits, tapping his foot impatiently.

Perrie runs into the room, arms up and waving.

“Are you going to ask him out yet?” she all but shouts at him. Zayn trails into the hallway after her, looking rather bored.

“No,” Louis says. “Maybe. I don’t know, okay, it depends how it goes, shut up Zayn!” Zayn stifles his laughter and schools his face into a serious one.

“Sorry, bro, but you sound like a teenage girl.”

“I know,” he says petulantly. 

“This is getting kind of ridiculous,” Perrie says gently. “You need to find out if he has feelings for you or if you’re just friends.”

“If he doesn’t have feelings for me I’m not going to stop being friends with him,” Louis says hotly. Perrie raises her hands in defence.

“That’s not what I meant! You just need to know whether you should move on or not, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I know, Pez, thanks,” he says, giving her a quick hug. “But I gotta go, he’s probably already there. Bye!”

He leaves before either of them can say anything else and uses the stairs, hurrying towards the park. It’s a nice day outside, sunny but not too hot with a light breeze, and Louis finds himself smiling at strangers. Louis is possibly going crazy and it’s because a stupid cute boy exists. His life is such a cliché, honestly. 

His walk to the park is uneventful, and when he gets there he spots Harry sitting on bench, by himself, holding two cones of ice cream. Louis hears those little harps start playing again and he can’t contain himself so he jogs over. Harry doesn’t notice him right away as he’s watching a few kids kick a football around, but when Louis clears his throat he finally turns. 

He looks radiant.

His hair is pushed back with a Union Jack bandanna and he’s wearing a flannel shirt and some necklaces and tight jeans and he looks more like one of those hipster types rather than someone with something akin to a Ph.d. Harry Styles is an enigma, and Louis wants to spend the rest of his life figuring him out.

“Hi,” Harry says brightly, handing him one of cones. Louis stares at him blankly.

“How did you know I liked mint chocolate chip?” Harry blushes. He actually 100% blushes and Louis feels his stomach contract.

“You mentioned it when we, um, went out for lunch after one of your appointments? When I ordered a milkshake you were upset they didn’t have a mint chocolate chip option…”

Louis wants to kiss him. He wants to kiss him and tell him all his secrets. 

“Little did you know that I was planting the seed in your mind so you would one day buy me mint chocolate chip ice cream. I’m pleased my plan worked.” Louis takes a generous lick of his ice cream and is again pleased to notice that Harry waits a beat before looking away. 

“Nice day,” he comments, starting in on his own ice cream – honey comb; Louis didn’t even know people liked honeycomb – eyes trailing back to watch the kids play football.

“We should play sometime,” Louis comments, resolutely not looking at Harry. “You can show me how awful you are.” 

“I’m pretty bad,” Harry says, “you might have to teach me how to kick and everything. You know how like people teach their friends to golf and shoot pool and stuff?”

Louis’ mind flashes to him standing beside Harry, instructing him how to kick the ball properly, how to kick it so it curves into the net. He pictures Harry in shorts. He comes back to the present definitely blushing.

“Yeah, exactly like that – ”

“Race you to the swings!” Harry’s already a few steps away before Louis can even react. He takes off after Harry and it feels good to run; it feels as though his back is almost completely back to normal. His physiotherapy appointments are basically just chatting sessions while Harry massages him – it’s his favourite part of his week, if he’s being honest. Although Harry’s got a head start and long legs on his side, Louis beats him to the swings, jumping on the one that doesn’t look like it’s going to fall apart. There are children in the play area, on the slide and the monkey bars, who stare at them curiously but ignore them otherwise. Louis notices a little girl in a football jersey talking to her mother excitedly and pointing. 

“How – the hell – did you – _beat_ – me?” Harry pants, collapsing on the swing. He lolls his head in Louis’ direction. “You’re like creepy fast. You don’t look that fast on telly.”

“I beat you because my ice cream that I was not finished, thank you very much, was all over my hand and I was mad at you!” Louis laughs, licking the rest of the ice cream off his hand. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Harry track the motion. He’s gonna do it. He’s gonna ask him on a real date, with real date connotations. 

“Harry?” he asks tentatively. 

Harry looks at him instantly, face anxious. His face doesn’t change when they make eye contact and something tells Louis that he knows exactly what Louis is going to say. It doesn’t deter him. 

“I was wondering if you’d like to go on a date with me? A real date where we get dressed up and I pay and we’re not just friends?” There. It’s out. Louis’ said the words he’s wanted to say for some time now, finally, and there’s no way to take them back. 

Harry opens his mouth and a little voice says, “hello?”

Louis and Harry both make the same face of confusion before turning to look at the little person standing in front of them.

“Hi, sweetie,” Harry says, smiling down at the girl Louis noticed earlier. “Do you want to use the swings? We’re so sorry, we’ll get off them!”

“No!” the little girl exclaims, shaking her head furiously. She looks to be about seven, blonde pigtails braided with bright pink ties. She’s wearing a Manchester United jersey that has Louis’ number, 17, on the sleeve. She looks away from Harry, eyes widening when they come to rest on Louis. 

“Hi, Mr. Tomlinson,” she says, shyly. 

“Hello!” Louis says, getting off the swing and crouching down in front of the girl. “You can call me Louis. What’s your name?”

“Hi Louis. My name’s Bea,” the little girl says, scuffing her shoes against the ground. “You’re my favourite player!” she says quickly and then clamps her mouth shut, eyes big.

“Thank you so much,” Louis says genuinely. “Are you a big football fan?” Bea nods excited.

“Yes! My daddy watches all the games and I watch them with him!” 

“I’m very happy to hear that,” Louis says. “Promise me you’ll keep watching? Even if ManU doesn’t win this year?”

“Duh,” Bea says, rolling her eyes. Louis can hear Harry giggle and the girl’s mother sigh out a _Bea, please_. “’m not just a fan coz they won last year! Been a fan since I was born.” She says the last part proudly and his heart swells. Bea reminds him of his sister Fizzy when she was this age; sassy and confident. He suddenly has an overwhelming feeling of nostalgia. 

“Can I give you a hug?” Bea asks. Louis looks up at her mother, who nods, before he opens his arms and scoops Bea into a hug.

“Thank you so much for coming over to talk to me!” Louis says when he puts Bea down. She beams up at him, cheeks deepening into dimples.

“Thank you, Mr. Tomlin- Louis! I hope you can play again soon.” Louis laughs softly and nods at her mother.

“Yeah, me too, Bea. It was very nice meeting you, have a good day!” Bea waves at him while her mother leads her away, and he turns to Harry with small sigh.

“I love kids, they’re always so full of life and happy – what’s wrong?” 

The smile that was on Harry’s face during Louis’ chat with Bea has since slid off, leaving only a look of sadness. Louis knows that look. Harry wore it when he backed away from Louis as the bar. There’s guilt in his eyes too, how familiar. 

“I’m sorry,” Harry says, sadly and quietly. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Yeah.” Louis is on auto-pilot, brain working to figure how he can get out of this situation without looking like a complete idiot. Why did he think asking Harry out would be a good idea? Of course he was going to say know – he’s his doctor, and also, possibly, not even interested in him. This is exactly the reason why Louis doesn’t date, he always falls for men who are never as into him as he is with them. 

“Lou,” Harry says, sliding off the swing and walking towards him. Louis holds his hands up and takes a step back, shakes his head.

“It’s okay, Haz,” he says tightly. “I get it, don’t worry about it.” They stare at each other for a few more seconds, tense and silent, before Louis looks away. He feels defeated, he is defeated, and he just wants to go home and cry. And possibly have a drink.

He sees Harry move, so he looks back, and all he sees is a determined looking Harry. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again, before spinning on his heel and walking away quickly, shirt ruffling behind him in the breeze.

“Yeah,” Louis says to the empty air. “Yeah.”

xx

When Zayn gets home Louis is so drunk he doesn’t even notice. He only realizes he’s no longer alone when there are hands half carrying him to bed.

“Harry? Hazza?” he says drunkenly, half asleep from lying on the couch for two hours drinking and watching _Titanic_.

“It’s Zayn,” unfortunately not-Harry says and Louis pouts into not-Harry’s armpit. “Babes, c’mon, get into bed. I’ll bring you water.”

 

Louis wakes up to his phone ringing, causing his hangover to jump into action right away. He gropes for his phone on his nightstand – when did he get into bed? – and answers it, groggily.

“’Ello?” his voice sounds gruff and cracked and dry, and it’s probably from the alcohol, but it’s probably from crying too. 

“Mr. Tomlinson?” a familiar voice says hesitantly.

“Yeah?” Louis says a little harshly. He has absolutely no patience for this phone call and also he might heave up all his stomach contents in less than sixty seconds.

“It’s Eleanor,” the voice says, “from Winston Physiotherapy Clinic?”

“Oh,” Louis says, trying to make his voice sound more like him and less like a dying cat. “Hi Eleanor, what’s up?” 

“Um, I was just calling to let you know that because of, um, a scheduling conflict, you’ll no longer be doing your therapy with Dr. Styles,” – Louis’ brain shuts off – “so we’ve got you set up with Jade, oh, um, Dr. Thirlwall that is, for the same date, just an hour later.”

Louis doesn’t say a word. He stares up at his ceiling and thinks about how exactly he’s gotten to this point in his life. He could’ve chosen to go to uni and become a drama teacher, a dream he had while also dreaming about professional football. Mark used to tell him he was crazy when he said he wanted to be both at the same time. Mark always wanted him to play football, but his mum, Jay, wanted him to teach. Maybe Jay was right, and Louis should have chosen teaching. He wouldn’t have been outed in a newspaper weeks before he had planned to come out, he wouldn’t have suffered his back injury, he wouldn’t have fallen for Dr. Harry fucking Styles. 

“Louis?” Eleanor says timidly, and right, yeah, she’s still on the phone. “I just need you to confirm that you know and understand what I’m saying, so we can switch all your records and charts to Dr. Thirlwall…”

“Yeah,” Louis says blankly. “Yeah, I understand completely.”

xx

When Louis gets to Winston Physiotherapy Clinic a few days later, he briefly considers skipping the appointment and dealing with whatever happens. He stands there for a good five minutes, cutting his appointment time close, but ultimately decides to go in, seeing as it’s his last appointment. Harry couldn’t even finish their last appointment in a professional manner. Louis isn’t angry, he’s just sad.

Eleanor looks at him sympathetically and he hates it. 

“Dr. Thirlwall’s office is the first door on the left,” Eleanor says. He just nods and knocks on Jade’s door. 

She opens it with a smile, and Louis feels himself relax. He had liked Jade the few times he had spent time with her, so he reckons his last appointment shouldn’t be too bad. They chat about nothing the entire time, never ever straying close to anything that resembles Feelings and for that Louis is glad. Jade is a good physiotherapist and the appointment ends on a happy note, which gets even better when Jade reads over his charts one last time.

“Louis,” she says, eyebrows furrowed as she flips through the pages. “Louis, you’re cleared to play.”

“What? What?” Jade looks up at him, beaming, showing him the chart. In neat handwriting – Harry’s – it says _Very good progress, will determine status of playing after next appointment, which is also last. Reminder: tell Lou to actually do soft yoga because it’ll help_. Louis ignores the second part as well as he can, while Jade scribbles her agreement and initials. 

“This appointment was fantastic, Louis, and I see nothing that would deter you from playing. Your back is back to normal, and I don’t think Dr. Styles would disagree. Congratulations!” she smiles at him and hugs him, which, Louis thinks, is probably unprofessional, but he hugs her back anyway, thrilled despite everything.

“Now go out there and make us proud!” she says as she ushers him out of the door. Louis is just about to step over the threshold when he sees Harry going into his office. Well, he sees the back of Harry’s head before the door clicks shut. He deflates a little before Jade guides him to the desk gently. 

“How’d it go?” Eleanor asks, eyes trained on the hallway like she hopes someone will appear. Louis would be lying if he said he didn’t hope the same thing. 

“Great!” Jade exclaims, handing Louis’ charts over. “Louis here has been cleared to play.”

“That’s fantastic news,” Eleanor exclaims, “congratulations!”

“Thanks, Eleanor,” Louis says politely. As much as he likes talking to Eleanor and Jade, he just wants to leave. There are other patients in the waiting room watching him curiously and he feels like he’s in a giant fish tank. If Harry was here he would tell Harry a story about a little fish who wished his entire life to be a professional footballer and one day, he was. “I have to go, I’m sorry. It was really nice seeing you both,” he says, bringing himself out of his thoughts.

“Bye, Louis,” Eleanor says to him, and it’s probably the last time they’ll see each other, and she doesn’t say it sadly which, like, offends Louis a bit? But Louis never understood girls, or even pretended to, so what does he know? Jade smiles at him and pats his arm. He thanks her and then leaves, finally, letting the door close behind him with a snap.

Louis is sitting on the tube when his phone lights up, flashing Dr Hazza. He stares at it a moment before turning it over, letting it go to voicemail. He waits a whole three-seconds before he checks the voicemail.

_Hey Louis. Could you give me a call when you get this? Oh, it’s Harry. Um, yeah, so, call me, please._

Louis deletes the voicemail and puts his phone away. He’ll phone Harry eventually, he just needs time to get over it, over him, before they can be friends again. He’ll get there, he just doesn’t know how long it’ll take.

xx

Louis gets a text from Niall the next day that says

_bro_

Louis knows what’s coming but he replies anyway.

_wassup nialler_

_call harry ya bastard, he’s well cut up about it_

Louis rolls his eyes. 

_yeah? so i should call him so he can tell me how sorry he is while still declining? srry that was harsh but like. it’s cool, i just need some time u kno?_

_bro_ Niall sends again. _it’s not what u think_

“I’ve heard that before,” Louis mutters. Zayn looks up from the floor where he’s painting. He sees Louis’ phone and opens his mouth. “It’s not Harry, calm down.”

Zayn shrugs. “I think you should talk to him, man.” And Louis thought he could trust Zayn. 

_i’ve heard that before_

_JUST DO IT_

That sufficiently ends the conversation and Louis goes back to wondering how in the world he’s going to get over Harry if all his friends keep telling him to call him.

xx

Harry turns up at Louis’ door later that night.

Louis is in the middle of cooking himself dinner – well, he’s microwaving a frozen meal – when there’s a few short raps at the door. Zayn is out at Perrie’s for the night, Liam has a key, and the rest of Louis’ teammates wouldn’t show up unannounced at half-seven in the evening. He has a feeling he knows who’s at his door before he even opens it.

“Hi,” Harry says. Louis just looks at him. “You’ve been ignoring my calls, so I figured I’d come by and explain.” Louis steps aside and waits for Harry to pass him before he closes the door. He gathers himself together quickly, arranging his face into a neutral expression. 

“Okay, uh, I said no to the date because I literally couldn’t date you,” Harry explains. 

“Thanks,” Louis says sarcastically, “that really clears it all up. Thought that maybe – ”

“Lou, shut up for a second will you and let me explain?” Harry snaps, for once looking angry with Louis. Louis doesn’t like it so much but he lets the words die on his tongue and waits expectantly. 

“It’s in my contract at Winston’s that I can’t date someone who’s medical information I have access to, and it’s like, we’re not like surgeons or actively saving your life or anything, but Ben – Ben Winston – thinks it’s just more professional, you know, to not, um, fraternize I guess, with our patients. Kissing you at the open-mic was the best mistake I’ve ever made, but I knew I couldn’t do it again...Your recovery is so much more important than my want to kiss you senseless.” 

Louis doesn’t say anything; he doesn’t know if he can.

“And like I obviously didn’t want to stop hanging out with you, and I thought I was doing okay, you know, like not thinking about you constantly but then you asked me out and it was so perfect, Louis, you looked so good and saying no to you was so hard – ”

“So why did you?” Louis says, “Nobody would have had to know it was a real date. Could’ve just told everyone we just got hungry.” Louis feels like he’s begging and he might actually drop to his knees if that’ll get Harry to say yes, but Harry shakes his head violently.

“No, I didn’t want to do things half-way anymore,” he says. “I asked Eleanor to book me with a different patient at the same time as your appointment so you could be moved to Jade’s service…it was the only thing I could think of.”

Louis fish mouths at him.

“Why didn’t you just call me yourself and tell me?!” Louis exclaims. Harry looks down at his hands, defeated.

“I wanted to make sure you were completely done your recovery, I didn’t want to mess it up, I was almost completely sure you were going to be cleared to play after your last appointment so I just tried to hold off and Niall told me I had to tell you in person because you were – you are? – really mad at me and – ”

Louis is cupping Harry’s face before he even realizes that he’s moved. Harry freezes, eyes searching Louis’ face for something. 

“I am going to kiss you,” Louis says quietly, “don’t you dare even think about pulling away and leaving, okay? Am I clear?”

“Yep,” Harry says breathlessly, eyes fixated on Louis’ lips. “Crystal.”

Louis kisses him.

And it’s better than Louis remembers and better than he’s imagined since. He nudges Harry towards the wall but when they’re a body’s width away Harry spins them so he’s looming over Louis. Louis settles against the wall and pulls Harry’s hips against his, tips his chin up and allows Harry to kiss him deeply.

Harry is an excellent kisser. His lips are sinful and he knows exactly when Louis is about to pull away for air and when he does he just continues down his neck. He finds Louis’ pulse with his tongue, and sucks a bruise into it. Louis’ eyes are crossing from how good it feels. He tangles his hands in Harry’s curls and guides his mouth back to his own and contents himself with kissing him hungrily. Harry starts rolling his hips at some point, pressing into Louis, pressing him into the wall. Louis stops kissing him with a gasp as they start to rut against each other.

“I know this is gonna sound crazy,” Harry pants into Louis’ neck, “and it’s probably not the best time to say this, but I think I might love you.”

Louis stills, just for a second. Less than a second. He wants to say it back, it’s just – the words get stuck in his throat and it’s frustrating because he does love Harry, how could he not, but he’s nervous about letting him in completely. He has to be sure. 

Instead of saying something stupid and thus having Harry _stop_ moving against him, he unbuckles and slides Harry’s belt off with one motion, and drops to his knees. 

“Fuck,” Harry says quite calmly, stilling. “Fuck.” Louis grins up at him through his fringe and sees that Harry is biting his lip, hands hanging useless at his side as he stares down at Louis.

Louis pulls Harry’s jeans off him as fast as possible – which is quite slow because they are definitely painted on somehow – which frees Harry’s cock. He’s not wearing pants, which Louis finds intriguing and arousing. But what is even more intriguing and arousing is Harry’s beautiful dick.

Which, like. Louis knows how silly that sounds, but Harry’s dick is actually the most beautiful dick he’s ever seen. And he’s seen his fair share of dick, okay? This one takes the cake. 

“Oh, wow,” Louis mutters, wrapping his hand around the base. His dick already pretty hard, warm and heavy in Louis’ hand. Harry half-laughs, half-moans. 

“Good wow or bad wow?” 

Louis answers him by licking down his entire length before fitting the head fitting his mouth. Harry does that half-laugh/half-moan thing again and shifts, bracing one hand against the wall. Louis’ caged in-between Harry’s body and the wall, and his legs are cramping up a little, but Louis madly thinks he never wants to be anywhere else. Louis sucks on the head and wonders if he can quit football so he can blow Harry at all times. 

Louis works quickly. He goes as deep as possible – Harry is _huge_ – and works his hand in the places his lips can’t quite reach. Harry’s making these keening noises above him, hips stuttering when Louis tongues at his slit tasting the precome gathered there. 

Harry moans out Louis’ name brokenly nudging his cock further into Louis’ mouth. Louis grabs Harry’s hand that’s hanging uselessly by his side and guides it to his hair, looks up at him through where his hair has fallen into his eyes.

“Fucking beautiful,” Harry murmurs, brushing Louis’ hair away from his eyes. Louis hums happily and quickens his pace, left hand coming up to knead and stroke the back of Harry’s thighs, tease over his bum. Louis can feel him getting close; he can tell because Harry’s wound his fingers through his hair tightly, breath coming out shallowly and in short gasps.

“Lou, babe,” Harry pants, looking like he’s holding back his hips from fucking into Louis’ mouth, “Louis, I’m gonna – ”

Louis flattens his tongue against the underside of his dick and sucks and Harry comes down his throat, moaning his name.

He pulls off and wipes the corner of his mouth, suddenly shy. Harry gathers himself for a second before he kneels on the floor and tips Louis’ face up, looks into his eyes with clear, bright eyes. They stare at each other for a second before Louis’ face heats up.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says, but Harry shakes his head.

“Let’s get you sorted out.” His eyes fall to Louis’ crotch where his painstakingly obvious erection is tented in his trackies. Louis sqawks like a chicken when Harry lifts him bridal style in one swift motion and carries him to the bedroom. Harry laughs at him and doesn’t miss a beat, and Louis hears those harps and angels again, and he’s happy.

xx

It’s midnight when Zayn gets back to the flat with Perrie in tow, stating that her roommate requested to be alone for the evening because she’s a, quote, “drama queen”.

Perrie sees them holding hands first. She asks them if they’re dating, and Louis hesitates, doesn’t know what to say or how to answer; him and Harry haven’t spoken about it, but Harry squeezes his hand.

“If he’ll have me,” he says seriously. Perrie lets out a very badly concealed squeal, Zayn scoffs and says _finally_ , and Louis makes an incredulous noise and leans closer to Harry’s face.

“I’ll have you,” he says in the most sickly sweet voice he can manage which has Harry laughing when Louis kisses him. They break apart to Zayn’s staged gagging and spend the rest of the night holding hands.

xx

A week later finds Harry standing like a runway model in nature holding a football.

“So, we made it. We made it to the final game of the Champions League.... And United needs you.” Harry starts to pace. “Which means you have to be completely ready to play because Paul has already called you and told you to suit up, correct?”

“Correct,” Louis says. “Except we’re actually here to teach you how to play. Now kick me the ball.”

Harry does, and it’s not bad, a little to the right of Louis instead of right to his foot, but not bad. 

“Alright,” Louis starts, a professional tone seeping through his voice. “We’re gonna do some drills and then you can take some shots on next, that cool?”

“Yep!” Harry chirps, receiving Louis’ pass with more grace than he expected. 

They pass the ball around for a bit before Louis sets up little orange cones. He instructs Harry to dribble the ball through the cones, and he expects him to maybe get through two or three, but Harry doesn’t even graze six out of the seven, the last one only happening because a gaggle of children run past, sufficiently distracting him. 

“That was…really good,” Louis says, furrowing his eyebrows. “You told me you were awful at football.”

Harry shrugs and smiles at him, tucking some of his hair under his bandana. “Maybe I’m not as bad as I led on.” He finishes his sentence with a wink that has Louis itching to touch him.

“Stop flirting with me,” Louis says sternly, pointing past Harry. “Go set up for a penalty kick, I’ll get in the net.” Harry takes off jogging while Louis gathers up the cones and their duffle bag.

When they’re both in position, Harry looks at him dead on and says, “don’t overstrain your back or I will kill you.”

Louis laughs loudly and raises his hands.

“Yes, sir, no back strain for me today.” Harry’s eyes flash mischievously and Louis only has a split second to think before Harry kicks the ball right into the corner of the net. 

“Yes!” Harry crows, running around in a circle. “Styles 1, Tomlinson 0!” 

“That was actually quite an impressive goal, Styles, I must say,” Louis says in a brisk, but proud, voice. Harry lights up and for a second he’s brighter than the sun. His curls and tanktop are somewhat damp from running around and he has grass stains all over his legs, but he’s never looked more beautiful to Louis. 

Harry jogs over to him and collapses on the ground, spread eagle, staring up at the sky.

“That cloud looks like a kitten,” he muses, pointing at a lump of clouds. “Don’t you think?” Louis goes over and squints up, can’t really make it out, but lies down next to Harry. They can hear kids laughing and screaming over in the other football pitch where a Tiny Tots Football league game has started, and it fills Louis is warmth. 

“Did you always want to be a footballer?” Harry asks, lolling his head towards Louis’. Louis kisses him quickly before he can talk himself out of it and Harry beams, budging closer and finding Louis’ hand.

“I wanted to be a drama teacher,” Louis says, “at the same time I was also being a footballer. I had big dreams, you know.”

Harry looks at him like he’s the only person in the world. “I think you would’ve been the most lovely teacher.” Louis tries not to breathe because he doesn’t want to ruin the moment. “I’ve always loved kids. I always thought I was going to be a kindergarten teacher, I’m actually still in touch with my own kindergarten teacher, but I never got around to it.”

“There’s always time,” Louis says, “you never know how bored you’ll get once you retire.” Harry grins at him, and says, yeah, and tilts his head back to the sun. He looks like a painting, face all angles except for his dimples. His eyelashes cast a shadow over his cheekbones and Louis wants to kiss him again so he does. And again and again and again.

xx

Harry takes him back to his place and halfway through the tour turns to Louis and says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

Louis stares at him.

“You need to take your clothes off right now or I’m going to have to rip them off, and I like those pants on you, they make your ass look fit as hell.”

“My ass always looks fit as hell, thank you very much,” he snaps. And then his brain catches up to him.

He strips down with Harry’s help and lets him lead him towards his bed – a Queen, just like he thought. 

Harry opens him up slowly, alternating between using his fingers and his tongue. The latter has Louis making noises he never knew he even possessed but he’ll be damned if he ever asks Harry to stop. Harry also spends a Very Long Time kissing up and down Louis’ body, focusing mainly on his thighs. He bites down into the meaty part just below Louis’ hips and Louis bucks up helplessly.

“Stop teasing,” he demands but Harry just grins devilishly and continues nipping both of his thighs.

“I wanna fuck your thighs,” Harry says conversationally. Louis’ eyes roll back in his head but his voice doesn’t betray his lack of composure.

“I was actually thinking about riding you,” Louis says, through a moan when Harry licks the tip of his dick cheekily, “but you know, it’s up to you, mate.” Harry sits up and stares at him. 

“Yeah,” Harry says breathlessly, kissing up Louis’ body as he makes his way to his face. “Yeah, okay, yeah, let’s do that.”

“Brill,” Louis says after they kiss for a while, cocks rubbing wetly against each other. Harry rolls them over, Louis straddling him. Harry’s body is glistening with sweat, creating an even starker contrast between his skin and his tattoos. “Sick butterfly.”

“It’s a moth,” Harry retorts, rolling his hips. “Honestly, the amount of people who make that mistake astounds me.”

He’s completely serious and it makes Louis fall in love with him a little more. 

He rolls a condom onto Harry’s dick and applies a generous amount of lube before lowering himself down. It’s a tight fit; Louis hasn’t been fucked in a while and Harry’s size is definitely a factor. 

Louis rides Harry until the sun goes down and it’s the best sex of his life.

 

When Louis wakes up, Harry is beside him, texting, and there’s a cup of steaming tea on the bedside beside Louis. Louis is nestled right in between the junction of Harry’s shoulder and armpit, and he kind of wants to sniff it. Really quickly and super stealthily so Harry doesn’t notice, Louis breathes in deeply. It smells like fresh rainbows and sunshine. He rolls towards Harry and captures his lips in a kiss that is definitely heated and definitely interesting to Louis’ dick before he sees who he’s texting. 

_GRIMMY_

Louis pulls away. “Are you texting Nick Grimshaw?”

“Yeah,” Harry says, smiling at him, before finishing his text. “You know him through football, right?”

Louis stares at him silently until Harry looks at him.

“What? Lou?”

“You are friends with Nick Grimshaw?” Louis asks slowly, just in case.

“…Yeah?” Harry props himself on his elbow and looks Louis with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“He outed me, Harry,” Louis spits out, rolling himself out of the bed. He gathers his clothes as quickly as possible and starts pulling them off, resolutely not looking at Harry. 

“What?” Harry sits up properly. “No he didn’t, he just wrote the article where you came out?”

Louis finally looks at him.

“No, that article wasn’t true,” Louis says, sadness creeping into his voice. “He twisted the truth, I didn’t want to come out like that, Harry –”

“But, no, you talked about how it’s good for young kids –”

“ – it’s not how I wanted to come out – ”

“ – you were so brave, Lou, I think you’re just misinterpreting –”

“No!” Louis shouts, tugging his shirt on as forcefully as possible. “No, Harry. I’m not misinterpreting anything, he outed me, and I can’t believe you would –”

“How would I have known?” Harry cuts him off angrily. “You don’t open up about anything, Louis, you hide everything. Even before we were this,” he gestures wildly between them, “you barely told me anything about yourself, anything _personal_.”

Louis doesn’t do well with being called out on his mistakes and faults, so he leaves. If Louis is being honest, he’s still just scared. He’s scared that something will happen as a result of being gay and the ramifications that may crop up. He gets scared every time he thinks about Nick’s article or sees a rude tweet, and he can’t bear the thought of being scared in front of Harry. He grabs his wallet off the floor and leaves Harry’s flat. Harry calls out after him frantically.

Louis strides towards the door and he hears Harry get out of bed clumsily to follow him.

“Louis, come back here!” he calls, tripping into the hallway to chase him down. Louis pauses at the door, hand on the doorknob. “Talk to me, Lou, please.”

Louis could stay. He could stay and talk it out with Harry, hear his side of his story and what Nick told him, and he could explain. He could stay and sit down and explain like a normal adult.

Louis leaves.

xx

“Mate, you okay?”

Louis is so far from okay, it’s almost laughable. He has never had this many thoughts running through his head at once. He’s playing in a championship match. He’s finally here and it’s. Well, it’s overwhelming. His back feels good, nothing feels out of place, and that makes him feel a little better – but the second he thinks of his back he thinks of Harry and when he thinks of Harry his stomach ties itself up in knots that are somehow worse than the knots forming around the chants of the stadium. Louis thinks he’s going to throw up.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” he says matter-of-factly. Liam must be learning from Zayn because he doesn’t react like the world is ending which makes Louis thinks it actually might be ending because he just instructs Louis to put his head in his hands and breathe deeply. Louis would scoff if he wasn’t afraid of heaving up his entire breakfast, which frankly only consisted of cereal and a smoothie. 

Three minutes into his personal meditation his phone buzzes beside him on the bench. He gropes around for it and brings it in front of his face, reads _Dr Hazza_ and feels like he’s going to pass out, maybe.

_Louis. I’m so sorry. I talked to Nick and he told me what happened, what really happened.. You shouldn’t have had to go through that & I should’ve believed you. Nick admits he was wrong and I definitely gave him a piece of my mind but still, I should have listened to what you had to say. You’ve handled this whole situation so so well & I’m so proud of you and you’re gonna be brilliant today. I love you so much. Hopefully I’ll see you soon. Have a good one, Lou. Let your lights shine. Xx_

Liam chooses this exact moment to ask him if he’s heard from Harry, so he just thrusts his phone at him and gets up to splash some water on his face. When he gets back Liam has an expectant look on his face.

“Have you replied?”

Louis shakes his head.

“Why?” 

He shrugs.

“We’re going onto the pitch in two minutes, Payno, I can’t send a reply that does it justice,” Louis says, half-believing his own lie. In reality, Louis is terrified of replying. He’s terrified of finally, completely, opening himself up to Harry. Honestly, he thought he already had, but the way his defence mechanisms kicked in the second Harry disagreed with him was startling and eye-opening. 

“And I’m scared,” Louis admits quietly. “I’m scared and I should’ve stayed and talked to him, I should’ve stayed.” Liam rubs his back consolingly.

“I have a feeling this will work itself out, okay?” Liam says, and Louis almost believes him.

 

Louis thinks about Harry all the way up until he runs out onto the field with his team, already having warmed up. The roar of the crowd reaches him and he forgets Harry almost completely when he soaks it up. It’s exhilarating. Before the game Paul told Louis that he wasn’t going to start the game just in case he hurt himself because “we’ll really need you in the second half, Tommo”. He’s not upset about it, though, in fact he’s happy. He’ll be able to give the team the renewed energy all players need in the 60th minute. This is what he lives for. His teammates are kicking the ball around on the sidelines, waiting anxiously for the music to start playing. He joins them and when Olly passes him the ball he hears chants of _Tommo Tommo Tommo_ rise up. He has a wild, ridiculous feeling that Lottie and Fizzy started the chant up in the boxes with their mum, and he feels himself start to tear up.

 

The sound during the kick-off is deafening and Louis has never felt more alive. 

 

It’s tied at 89:07 and Liam has a breakaway. Louis follows him at the quickest pace he can find within himself, thighs and calves burning with such intensity that Louis thinks they’ll fall off if he stops. He hasn’t been in top form; losing the ball more than once, having it taken it away from it, being offside. He tells himself it’s because of his injury, but he knows there’s something more underneath it all. Maybe is career has run it’s course. 

Louis directs his attention back to the game where he sees Liam pulling up short and getting into position to kick. Louis can see he won’t make it. There’s a defender running full speed at Liam and Louis knows that if he shouts for Liam to pass, he’ll be covered better, but he has a shot, if only Liam could read his mind, _he has a shot_ –

And Liam passes him the ball.

Louis barely sets it up, just swings his foot back to kick it as hard as he can, all or nothing. His foot connects with the ball and it takes off, but in his follow-through Louis can almost _hear_ his back groan and he knows, _he knows_ , it’s bad, but Louis keeps going, has to make it. All or nothing.

In the time it takes for the ball to leave the ground and for it to reach the net, Louis wishes that Harry were there to see it. 

The ball soars straight through the goalie’s outstretched fingers right into the corner of the net and the stadium is completely silent for a split-second before ear-splitting screams and cheers are heard. Louis doesn’t move, doesn’t know if he even can, his back is on fire and he probably shouldn’t have twisted how he did but he had to make the shot and he did. Louis is allowed two seconds of complete and isolated utter joy before his team gets to him and the final whistle blows. Then there are bodies everywhere hugging and pulling at Louis and someone’s pulling his kit off and Louis has possibly never been happier in his life.

“You fucking did it!” Olly shouts right in his ear, grabbing him by the shoulders and kissing his forehead. “We fucking won!”

All of Louis’ other teammates are appearing and slapping him on the back, the arse, crying and laughing, all of them overwhelmed with happiness until –

“Tommo,” Liam says and Louis looks at him, grins, and pulls him into a hug that hurts his back but has him strangely not caring. “Tommo, look!”

Louis looks up and directs his attention to where Liam is pointing. His entire family is there, all of all siblings, his mum and her fiancé, Zayn and Perrie, Niall, Jade, and Eleanor, and Harry. 

Harry, who’s wearing a fucking Tomlinson jersey, clutching flowers in his shaking hands. He looks pale and nervous, like he knows Louis hurt himself. 

Louis stumbles over, wincing the entire time, leaving his team behind. He gets to Harry and Harry says “You're hurt, where does it hurt?” at the same time Louis says “I love you”.

“I’m fine,” Louis says, waving a hand around. “I had a feeling something was going to happ-”

“ _What_?” Harry says blankly while Jay bursts into tears behind him. “What did you just say?”

“I said that I had a feeling something was gonna happen, like I knew I might get hurt? It’s hard to explain, also that I love you and I’m sorry I freaked out?” Louis is trying to be coy and maybe he sounds coy, but he is 100% a ball of nerves and it has nothing to do with his back. 

Harry drops the flowers and makes the two steps it takes to get to Louis and kisses him so passionately that when they pull apart he’s red in the face, Lottie is wolf-whistling, Fizzy is covering the twins’ eyes, Perrie and Jade are jumping up and down, and Jay is still crying. 

“I love you too,” Harry whispers as he pulls Louis closer. Louis sags against him and lets him lead him towards his family who engulf him. And this is when Louis has never felt more alive.

xx

Louis retires the month before Harry asks him to marry him.

The doctor Louis goes to see warns him that if he plays and gets hurt again, the injury could manifest and result in something worse. So he bows out with an above average last season, but he’s okay. 

He’s hired as a football announcer, and he thrives in it. He lives for talking about the game, lives for the chance to use whatever silly football pun that Harry has forced him to memorize. 

Louis retires the month before Harry asks him to marry him, and Harry retires the month before their surrogate is due.

xx

_five years later_

Louis stands in the middle of the pitch, hands on his hips, staring around him in awe. He’s playing a charity match – the first one since he retired – and he’s playing with the best footballers in history. The stadium is packed with fans and media, the game being broadcasted across the ocean into North America, and he remembers how much he loves and misses playing.

He shakes hands with the player opposite him and gets into position, glances to his right where the field level boxes are. His mum is there, with Lottie and Lottie’s new boyfriend, which has Louis grimacing, and Zayn and a very pregnant Perrie. And Harry is there.

He’s wearing an old jersey that says STYLES 17 on the back. He’s holding their son, who’s wearing a STYLES-TOMLINSON 17 (the letters are very small). He’s waving at Louis incessantly, apparently trying to his attention, so Louis waves him, mouths _I love you_ , and he goes wild, arms flailing about and whacking Harry in the face. Harry rolls his eyes but winks at Louis, and nudges their daughter in his direction.

“Daddy!” she shouts, and at almost four she can see over the box herself. “Daddy!” she shouts again, waving her arms and jumping up and down, clad in a jersey just like her brother’s. Louis waves again, making a funny face that will surely be pasted across every newspaper, and she starts laughing, head thrown back, curls bouncing, just like her dad’s. Louis is overcome with emotion. 

The whistle blows, and Louis takes one last second to look at Harry, who looks happy, and lovely, and so, so proud. He mouths _let your lights shine_ , and Louis takes off running. He feels the wind in his hair and thinks about his career and his husband and his children and his friends and wonders how he got so lucky.


End file.
